The Coup
by aussiemel1
Summary: Jason is badly injured in an assassination attempt at the palace and it is up to Hercules and Pythagoras to keep Jason and Ariadne safe. Set after The Grey Sisters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Hi All. I've started another story but it's quite angsty, which I don't love, I might need your feedback on this one, not sure whether to continue with it or abandon it.

And I find the relationship between Ariadne and Jason quite sterile in the show. In A Fate Worse Than Death they didn't hold hands even when no-one was around, what's up with that? I like to think of them as being much more affectionate.

Set after the Grey Sisters.

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**Chapter 1**

Jason didn't want to talk, didn't want to breathe, didn't want to do anything to break the mood as he and Ariadne reclined on a cushioned chaise in the palace courtyard, alone but for a guard always within sight of the queen who had retreated discreetly to a shadow.

Everything was still. The whole world was still and mute and private, the night sky made only for them and it filled Jason with a contentment he'd never experienced before. It was happiness and love and fulfillment and his life in perfect harmony. This is where he wanted to be. This is who he wanted to be with. The certainty of it was intoxicating, like the answer to a question he didn't even know he had asked. He let it wash over him, savored his joy, because it had been hard fought and a long time in coming. And he refused to contemplate all the different ways it could fall apart.

Ariadne's head rested on his chest and he stroked his fingers idly through her soft hair, breathed in her fresh floral scent, his other arm draped loosely across her back. He could feel _her _through the light gown, the way she curved, the way she moved, how warm she was, how slight she was. He had never held her before (other than when he thought she might die in his arms) and he loved the way she curled against him, how naturally they melded, their legs intertwined. It was so relaxed and normal, intimate and loving, and it was easy to forget for a while that they were an inappropriate match, that the ripples of discontent at their untraditional union could blossom into mutiny, could possibly cost Ariadne the throne.

"What are you thinking about?" Ariadne murmured.

"How perfect this is," Jason replied. "How perfect you are."

Ariadne raised her head and pressed her lips to his, kissed him sweetly, softly. His arms tightened around her but he made no demands on the kiss, content to follow her lead, because the relationship was hers to command. He would follow willingly, accept her affection readily, but he wouldn't push for more, not while their betrothal was still so new and her health still delicate.

It was less than a month since Ariadne had been stabbed by Medea. It had nearly been the death of her. They had looked at each other differently after, with a new awareness of life, how precious it was and that they needed to embrace their feelings for each other without regret or fear. He had attended the palace every day while she recuperated, not always gaining entry to her chamber, but when he did he was invariably delighted by how much better she looked, how her colour returned, how her strength returned, it felt like a journey they were taking together.

Tonight she was beautifully gowned, resplendently jeweled, carefully made up, she looked herself again, colour in her cheeks, gauntness subsiding. It was a rare opportunity to spend time alone. Jason was almost overwhelmed by the closeness, it was so new to him. They had spent years denying their feelings for each other, engaging with deliberate formality and distance and to have that dispensed with, to have her openly reciprocate his feelings and interact with affection was overpowering, it filled him with warmth.

Ariadne pulled out of the kiss, smiled lightly as she gazed into his eyes. "We should do this every night."

"We will," he promised.

She returned her head to his chest and he was glad he had gone to the trouble of buying a new shirt, spent every coin he had saved on fine linen, embroidered at the neck and hem with a patterned filigree. It was a much more appropriate pillow for a royal head than his usual rough garments.

"Are Hercules and Pythagoras nearby?" she asked.

"Probably," he returned lightly. "I think they're starting to consider themselves part of the royal household."

His friends had been allowed lenient access to the palace in recognition of their efforts to save the queen's life. They didn't quite abuse the privilege, although Hercules walked a fine line, but they eagerly attended the palace when Jason did, Pythagoras to bury himself in the library, Hercules to sample the wares in the kitchen.

"Perhaps I should find them positions," Ariadne mused.

Jason gave a soft chuckle. "I don't know that you really want them on staff," he joked, and immediately felt disloyal because they were good men, honest and brave, better friends than he'd ever had and certainly deserving of a royal appointment, if that was what they wanted. "No, you're right. Perhaps when we're married you should find them positions. Then I could see them everyday without having to go all the way to our house."

She shifted a little in his arms. "You understand that when we are married it won't be so easy to visit your house. There will be a retinue everywhere you go. The palace will need to know where you are at all times."

"Of course," he soothed, while his brow creased. "We'll sort it all out later."

He hadn't considered that the marriage would involve a loss of freedom, that his activities would be curtailed. It made sense that his life would become more structured, he just hadn't thought that far ahead. Even now it seemed so distant, he and Ariadne being married, there was growing unrest about their union and a wedding seemed a remote idea.

"Perhaps Hercules and Pythagoras could form part of your personal staff," Ariadne suggested.

Jason's eyes widened. He was going to have personal staff? Whatever for? But he returned nonchalantly, "Maybe. I'm sure Hercules would love to serve me." He smiled at the thought of it, how indignant his friend would be at taking orders from him.

Jason got the sense that he was going to buck some trends when he and Ariadne were wed. He wasn't born into a royal household and he wasn't going to have the same fervor to follow tradition, and the constraint and expectation were going to be new to him, difficult to swallow. He anticipated a difficult settling in period. Getting married was going to challenge their relationship in new ways.

"Do you smell smoke?" Ariadne asked, and lifted her head to look around.

"Yes," Jason returned slowly.

The palace was somewhat removed from the city and even though most citizens cooked over an open flame it was unusual to smell smoke. And tonight there was no breeze to carry it. He gently shifted the queen from his chest, slid her sideways so that she was fully on the chaise and gained his feet to pace slowly around the courtyard. When he was hard against the boundary wall he could see a plume of smoke rising in the darkness behind the building. Too close.

He strode back to the chaise and Ariadne was now perched on the edge, waiting expectantly. Her brow knitted as he neared, able to read the concern in his expression. "What is it?"

Jason reached for his sword, hung across the back of the chair and slung the band over his head. "I think there may be a fire in the palace grounds."

He looked around for the guard, to escort Ariadne to safety while he investigated. But there was no soldier in sight, the shadows appeared empty.

"Guard," he called loudly. When no guard was revealed it made Jason deeply uneasy. He carefully drew his sword, his eyes ranging the area. There were flaming torches dotted around the edge of the courtyard, but they only dimly lit the large square.

He offered his hand to Ariadne and pulled her to a close stand.

"Do you think perhaps the guard went to investigate the fire?" Ariadne asked quietly, wondering what the absence meant just as Jason was.

_He shouldn't have_, Jason thought, but he answered uncertainly, "I don't know. But I think perhaps we ought to leave the palace." He tried not to sound alarming, tried not to give the impression that maybe Ariadne was in danger, but it was what his senses were telling him.

He entwined his fingers in hers, gave them an encouraging squeeze and led her across the square. They would have to go into the palace in order to get out, there was no exit from the courtyard.

_Toward the fire _his mind was telling him. It seemed instinctually wrong, but that's where the people would be, soldiers would be there trying to douse the flames, and right now he wanted safety in numbers. They could avoid the flames, he was certain of it, certain that it was an outlying building on fire.

As they stepped into the corridor, Jason could feel how deserted the building was, missing the usual household sounds, without the bustle of staff, and it sent a prickle down his spine. He kept Ariadne close to his back, walked with his sword defensively raised. The blazing sconces on the wall were hopelessly inept, allowing for deep shadows all around them.

There was a flash of movement in front of them, in a darkened corner where two walls intersected and Jason's body moved faster than his brain, his sword slashed left to knock aside a dagger hurtling toward them, but neither body nor brain anticipated the second dagger following close behind. Jason felt the force of it like a punch to the shoulder, gave a soft grunt of surprise, and then it bloomed into stinging pain.

He gritted his teeth and ignored it for a moment, took quick steps in chase of the attacker who bounded out of the shadows, a man swathed in black cloth, who fled down the corridor away from them on silent feet. Jason stopped at the corner, aware that chasing the attacker would mean leaving Ariadne and he wasn't willing to do that. He turned and strode stiffly back to her, trying to keep his face composed, trying not to betray how much his shoulder burned.

The light colored shirt showed clearly the spread of blood down his chest, and the dagger embedded to the hilt below his left collarbone. Ariadne's hand went to her mouth as he approached.

"Jason," she cried in dismay, and took a hesitant step toward him.

"Don't..." With a hand raised he halted her, tilted his head apologetically, not wanting to be touched, bumped, every muscle clenched and tense.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, the pain making him hot, prickly and uncomfortable, his skin craved a cool breeze. The knife had to come out. He could feel the weight of it, could feel the sharpness of it deep inside, and it had to come out, he couldn't stand it. But he wouldn't ask Ariadne to do it.

He thrust the wooden handle of his sword toward her. "Take this," he instructed tautly and she did so absently, without looking at it, her eyes unable to leave his bloodied shoulder.

The wall offered the support he needed, stone blocks sturdy and immoveable held his weight as he leaned heavily against it for a moment, taking in steadying breaths. Very carefully he sank to the ground, twisting to sit with his back against the rough stone, legs stretched out in front.

"I'll go and find help," Ariadne said decisively.

"No," Jason returned sharply. Roaming the building on her own was a terrible idea. "Stay close. Give me a minute."

His tentative fingers wrapped around the protruding hilt, and even that hurt, the lightest pressure on the knife was amplified inside him. _Be ready, _he told himself. _Be ready_. With Ariadne beside him, watching with haunted eyes, he couldn't cry out when he removed the knife, he had to bottle as much as he could. It was going to test him and he sent a silent prayer to heaven seeking strength. With gritted determination he tightened his grip, sucked in a breath and pulled on the knife as hard as he could.

Everything darkened for a moment. He was vaguely aware of his hand dropping nervelessly into his lap and the knife clattering to the floor, and then it was just wave after wave of pain, more than it felt like he could endure. It buried him. The agony took away sight and sound, sense and reason. It was all he could do just to breathe. Just breathe. And he was aware of nothing beyond what was happening inside him.

It felt like a long time that he sat there half aware. _You need to move, _his mind urged_. Ariadne's in danger. You need to move._ But it was impossible. He was numb all over, in a dazed fog, and there was no way he could move, no matter how much he wanted to.

Slowly, by degrees, his shoulder settled, the scream subsided. It still thumped hard, throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but the burning, stinging, cutting pain abated. He sighed with relief at the worst of it being over, his breath coming more easily, and shut his eyes for a moment to gather himself.

"Jason?" Ariadne's voice was shrill, alarmed that he had closed his eyes, and he opened them for her benefit.

"Yes," he gasped, and made an effort to meet her gaze, to reassure her.

"Keep your eyes open," she ordered, tone clipped and terse and if Jason could have summoned any humor he might have found that funny, that she was _ordering_ him not to pass out. As if her regal power extended that far. As if he had any control over it.

Ariadne was kneeling beside him, long hair tickling his cheek as she pressed her hands against the wound, bunching his shirt to soak up the blood. The siege of Atlantis had trained her in blood and injury. When the Colcheans had forced their way into the city all those months ago, the queen had unflinchingly administered to the wounded, and she wore that fortitude now, a thin lipped determination to be of assistance and not worry for her own safety.

_She is so exposed_, he thought. She had her back to the world, an easy target, anyone could come up behind her, she wasn't making any effort to protect herself.

"There is so much blood," she muttered, shaking her head lightly. "It won't stop."

"We- we have to move," he breathed. "We have to leave." It was draining to talk, he hoped he wouldn't have to do much of it, that she would listen and act. And even though he spoke of action, inertia had him firmly in its grip, his body at rest desperately wanted to stay at rest.

"You can't move," she dismissed, like the idea was ridiculous. "There is a river of blood at your shoulder."

It struck him as ironic that only a few weeks ago the positions had been reversed, and he had fretted as blood poured out of her. It was an awful position to be in, watching helplessly as the one you loved suffered, he could genuinely sympathize with her. At least he had the benefit of Pythagoras then, the man was a real comfort in a crisis, calm and unflappable. He wished his friend was here now, to take the burden from Ariadne, tell them what needed to be done, and give them confidence that everything would be alright.

Ariadne twisted her head left and right, looking all around. "Where are the guards?"

_Good question_, he thought. They were either lying dead on the ground or paid off because someone should have been here by now, especially with a fire on the grounds. Something was happening in the palace, someone was unfolding a plan, it was elaborate and coordinated and his mind went immediately to Pasiphae, the woman was single minded in her determination to claim the Atlantis throne.

Footsteps could be heard approaching and Ariadne's shoulders sagged in relief, anticipating someone from the royal household, but Jason considered it could just as easily be someone to finish them off, or take them prisoner, and it was the impetus he needed to start moving. If someone was going to throw knives at them again they were in real trouble, but he could at least meet the threat on his feet.

"Pick up the sword," he commanded in a low voice.

Ariadne glanced anxiously at him and did as he bid, dropped her bloodied hands from his shoulder and wound her fingers around the leather grip.

"You think it could be the enemy?" she asked quietly.

"I think we should be prepared," he returned.

She inclined her head tautly and gained her feet, facing in the direction of the approaching footsteps.

With superhuman effort, and strong support from the wall, Jason levered himself to a stand, locking his knees to keep him upright. His shoulder hated him for it. Pounding filled his ears and set his teeth on edge and he pressed the heel of his hand hard against the wound, trying to calm its angry treachery.

"Come closer, and give me the sword," he whispered.

Ariadne looked sideways at him, uncertain about his ability to wield a weapon, but complied with his request, handed him the sword, and he took a few steps away from the wall, remarkably steady steps, his posture remarkably straight. "Behind me," he directed, and made sure in his periphery that he covered her well, raised the sword before him and tried to look like he was ready for a fight.

"I think they're in the courtyard," Hercules could be heard, and Jason felt weak with relief.

"Do you really have any idea where they are or are we going to traipse the whole palace looking for them?" Pythagoras returned, the voices getting closer.

"Thank God," Jason muttered, and let the sword fall to his side, all the energy he had summoned leaving in a rush, making him sag and sway. He stumbled a few steps backward, Ariadne side-stepping quickly, until he felt the wall at his back. Ariadne dusted concerned fingers lightly across his chest as she peered at him, gauging him cursorily with a furrowed brow.

Hercules strode around the corner, Pythagoras close behind, and the big man stopped at the sight of the couple, flicking his brows up and down, pleased to see them.

"There you are. There's a fire," Hercules announced, both gesturing and looking behind. "Someone said the armory."

"Jason!" Pythagoras cried in alarm, more perceptive than his large friend, and took hurried steps to reach the injured man. "What happened?"

Pythagoras' fingers pulled at the rip the knife had made in the shirt, trying to view what lay under, and then he ripped the material further, spread the linen apart to get a clearer view.

Jason grunted at the pull, a little nauseous as the movement rocked him. "Later Pythagoras," he said and weakly pushed aside the probing hands. "We have to get Ariadne out of the palace."

"I don't think this can wait," Pythagoras returned grimly.

"What happened?" Hercules exclaimed, and lifted his hands in confusion, looking around trying to figure it out. "I thought it was just dinner. What happened?"

"Someone tried to kill us," Ariadne replied bitterly.

"There's an assassin in the palace," Jason added, glancing around nervously, worried about how loud they were, feeling vulnerable. "We have to leave."

"Just wait," Pythagoras urged, and cast serious eyes at Jason. "You are not going to get very far when you are bleeding this freely."

Jason pressed his lips together, impatient with Pythagoras' concern, and beckoned Hercules closer with a jerk of his head. "Come here. Let me lean on you," he demanded, and knew it was a bit abrupt, a bit imperious.

Hercules raised an eyebrow at the command. "He's acting royal already," he muttered under his breath.

"Jason." There was pleading and reproach in Pythagoras large expressive eyes. "Let me attend to the injury first and then we can get the Queen out of the palace."

"No," Jason replied firmly. "Queen first."

Pythagoras took a miffed step back, shifted his gaze to the queen and shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps you could talk some sense into him."

Ariadne shifted in front of Jason, chided him with her dark eyes, stroked fingers down his cheek and already he knew that whatever she commanded he would do, he couldn't say no to her.

"You are very stubborn," she admonished and brushed her lips against his in a kiss soft and chaste and so welcome that he melted into it. She drew back and assessed him, then turned to Hercules and ordered, "Help him move."

Jason sighed in relief and felt a surge of affection for her at not trying to force him to submit to Pythagoras' ministrations, for her restraint and understanding.

Hercules circled around, positioned himself on Jason's right side, plucked the sword from his hand and passed it to Pythagoras, and wound Jason's arm around his neck. The big man wrapped an arm around Jason's midriff and shifted him away from the wall, taking his weight. Jason groaned, his face contorted at the movement, at the way it pulled on the wound, and pressed his jaw together, schooling his features.

"Ariadne, walk in front of us," Jason instructed through gritted teeth. "Pythagoras…" and suddenly he lost his train of thought. He was distracted by the possibility that perhaps there was more than one assassin on the grounds and it removed whatever he was about to say to Pythagoras from his mind. The mathematician looked at him expectantly and creased his forehead at the blank expression, raised his brows to Hercules as if to say _you see?_ _We need to tend to him._

Hercules finished the sentence, "Walk in front of the queen. Put her in the middle of us."

_Yes_, Jason thought. That was what he wanted to say. He made an effort to reel in his focus, only think of one thing at a time.

Pythagoras stationed himself at the head of the small group, handling Jason's sword gingerly, flicked his eyes anxiously to Hercules, then turned and led the group down the corridor, sword defensively raised in front of him.

After only a few steps Jason was overcome by the motion, badly affected. He couldn't match his pace to Hercules, his legs felt uncoordinated and weak. And the movement, the act of putting one foot in front of the other, jostled and jarred him, made worse by trying to follow Hercules gait, his body swung gracelessly and his shoulder screamed its objection. It was probably inevitable that his stomach should rise, but unwelcome nonetheless.

"I'm going to be sick," he informed his friend quietly, swallowing hard.

"Got it," Hercules clipped. "Give us a moment," he called to the duo in front, then added vaguely, "hide in the shadows." Without waiting for acknowledgment he slipped them sideways into the courtyard.

_We're still in the courtyard_, Jason thought with dismay. _We've gone nowhere_.

Hercules dragged Jason to a dark corner, placed a strong hand against his chest and eased him down to a kneel, maintaining his hold as Jason heaved and choked and moaned and might have cried in misery if Ariadne wasn't nearby. Hercules murmured a litany of platitudes, _you're okay, you're fine, you'll be fine _but Jason wasn't buying it, he was a long way from okay. Illness rolled over him in ebb and flow, he couldn't seem to master it, to get on top of it, he felt wretched and pitiful, and had an overwhelming urge to lie on the ground and close his eyes. Cool stone tiles against his clammy skin, collapse for his weary body, he wanted it desperately.

He was going to hold the group back, he knew it with a certainty. He was going to make their escape from the palace so slow. He was going to compromise Ariadne's safety.

When there was nothing left for his stomach to expel Jason let his head sag forward, exhausted, his whole body trembling. Hercules held his entire weight in the hand under his chest, he wasn't supporting himself at all, his strength was gone.

"Leave me," Jason groaned. "Just leave me here." He wasn't trying to be noble or brave, it was a matter of practicality, the group could make a much faster getaway without him.

"I don't think your bride would like that," Hercules jibed.

"Please," Jason said earnestly. "Leave me here and save Ariadne. I'll be fine." And at that moment he didn't care, _didn't care_, if he was fine or not, he just wanted Ariadne safely out of the palace.

"Lets keep going shall we?" Hercules returned, a hard edge to his voice, and he lifted Jason to his feet, as floppy as a rag doll, forced his arm around the bull neck and carried him to where their companions waited, Jason making little pretense at being capable.

Resentment welled inside Jason at being forced to stay with the group. His friends could get the queen out of the city, he trusted them completely, it wasn't necessary for him to come, it was foolish to drag him along.

"Oh Jason," Ariadne cried softly, with such dismay in her voice that he wondered at how terrible he must look. She hastened to his side, pushed fever damp strands of hair from his forehead, and examined his face critically.

"I'm fine," he offered weakly, and it was such an obvious lie that a small smile pulled at his lips.

"Perhaps we _should_ tend to him first," she said, eyes on Hercules.

"If we don't get out of the palace we might all wind up getting knifed," Hercules replied evenly, and Jason was grateful for his sense. "We need to move faster."

"The secret passage," Jason uttered and Ariadne nodded in understanding.

Then it became a blur of floor for Jason, they moved at a dizzying pace and it was easier to keep his head down and measure their progress by the tiles on the ground. The secret passage wasn't far, and he would feel much more secure in an unknown part of the building.

At the first corner they found one of the queen's soldiers lying on the ground, a knife sticking out of his chest.

"Take the shield," Hercules instructed Pythagoras. "And hand Ariadne the sword."

In the distance there were sounds of fighting, the clang of metal, cries of men and the screams of women.

"What is going on?" Ariadne quietly exclaimed.

"I don't think we want to find out," Hercules returned grimly. "Just keep moving."

It was only a few minutes before Ariadne said, "Here," and halted before a large tapestry hanging from the ceiling. She withdrew a key from somewhere within the folds of her dress, it had been skillfully concealed, and Jason was mildly disturbed that she was apparently always prepared for an emergency exit. She pushed the tapestry aside and unlocked the hidden door that lay behind.

The passage was pitch black. Ariadne removed the lighted torch from the sconce next to the door and entered first. The men followed quickly and she pulled the door closed, locking it behind them. She moved to the front of the group and began to lead them through the secret passage but Hercules called, "Wait. Wait. What's our plan? Where are we going?"

There was silence for a moment as they each considered the next step. "The Oracle?" Pythagoras ventured.

"Too close," Jason murmured. "We need to put some distance between the queen and the palace."

"What about our house?" Hercules suggested.

"Really?" Jason returned with ill humour.

"What?" Hercules said, not following the objection. "It's not that close."

"We should hide in our own house?"

"It's not the queen's house," he protested. "Who will know?"

"I've been at the palace every day for the last month. I don't think it will be hard to figure out."

Hercules lapsed into silence, and Jason exhaled a long breath, regretting his sharp tongue. Even though he was supporting little of his weight he felt strained and weary, his legs were rubbery and useless, his shoulder throbbed with torturous constancy. He knew he was in terrible shape, and he knew how it would progress. Pretty soon he would pass out, his friends would have to bear his burden and he hated it, hated being the burden. He wanted to suggest once again that they leave him, that it was the sensible course but he was pretty sure it would meet with resistance and he didn't have the energy for an argument.

"The forest," Jason declared, without any enthusiasm.

Pythagoras drew up close, mouth tight with discontent. Even clutching a sword and shield he didn't look ferocious, it made him look awkward and gangly.

"I cannot begin to tell you what a bad idea that is," he said quietly, eyes dipping to the bloody shoulder.

"I can't disagree," Jason returned tiredly. "But it's our only option."

Pythagoras turned stiffly to Ariadne. "Your majesty, what would you have us do?"

"I know of a cottage in the forest, perhaps we could aim for that." Her brow knitted as she added, "Although it is rustic. And far." She appraised Jason doubtfully.

"The forest it is then," Hercules said, and Jason sucked in a breath as they started moving again.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Some Hercules POV.

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**Chapter 2**

Hercules couldn't help feeling threatened by the darkness. The torch Ariadne carried didn't penetrate far into the secret passage and Hercules kept thinking _there could be anything in here_. Snakes, spiders, skeletons, assassins, there was no limit to what his mind could conjure. He trusted Ariadne not to lead them into a death trap but the passage did not seem well used and he wondered when it was last surveyed, if anyone had thought to deem it safe.

The tunnel was long, and the blackness made their progress slow. Hercules was carrying the weight of two and when they finally reached the end, the muscles in his arms burned. Jason had become heavier and heavier as they progressed, bearing less and less of his weight until finally he passed out, and it made him unwieldy, inelegant, as he bounced against Hercules hip, his feet dragging the earth, marking their path behind.

"Be careful opening the door," Hercules cautioned the queen. "Let Pythagoras go out first."

Pythagoras gave him a withering look. "Thanks."

"Well of course you have to go out first," Hercules griped. "You can't have the queen lead the way."

Ariadne unlocked the door and stepped back to allow Pythagoras in front of her. Pythagoras raised the shield to his chin and slipped through the entry quickly, pulling it closed behind him.

The young woman looked in despair at Jason, awkwardly limp in Hercules hold. She rested the sword in her hand against the wall and ran her fingers through the dark curls. "I'm worried for him."

"I am too," Hercules admitted. It was hard not to be worried when Jason was covered in blood, leaving a trail of it in their wake. He wondered if perhaps they _should _leave Jason behind, take him to the Oracle and let her tend to him. He wasn't concerned so much about Jason slowing their progress, he was concerned about him dying from lack of attention. It was an alarming amount of blood he'd lost and it urgently needed to be addressed.

Pythagoras had examined the wound briefly, after Jason passed out and couldn't complain, but there wasn't much that could be done in a tunnel. He had taken off his vest and pressed it hard against the wound, held it there for minutes until he was satisfied that the flow of blood had stopped, wrapped and tied the garment around the shoulder as tightly as he could, and then there was nothing they could do but continue.

"Jason," the queen called quietly, peering closely at his face for a response. "Jason!" But there wasn't even a flicker from the injured man and Ariadne bit her lip unhappily.

"All clear," Pythagoras informed in a loud whisper.

Hercules renewed his grasp on his unconscious friend and followed Ariadne through the door, to discover they were in the temple, in an open passageway beside the central expanse. Huge columns surrounded them, giant bronzed bulls faced away, large braziers were afire, and the door this end was concealed in deep shadow, impossible to find if you didn't know it was there. Ariadne threw the blazing torch she was holding into a brazier so that the light didn't draw attention to them.

They surveyed the area from behind a pillar, making sure there was nothing threatening in the vicinity and discovered The Oracle was striding toward them, apparently aware of their entrance, looking anxiously over her shoulder, no-one else visible in the building. As the seer drew close her eyes went soft and misty at the sight of Jason slumped against Hercules, her head tilted to the side in dismay.

"Oh Jason," she sighed, dipping a little to look into his face, her patterned hand cupping his cheek gently.

"Perhaps he should stay with you," Hercules suggested, and didn't look at the queen in case there was disagreement on her face.

"Unfortunately he cannot," the Oracle replied. "Pasiphae would kill him as surely as she would kill the queen if she found hm."

"Pasiphae?" Hercules echoed in alarm.

The seer nodded solemnly. "She has stolen into the city. She couldn't take Atlantis by force so now she is taking it by stealth. Her men are already in the palace grounds. You must leave before they search the temple."

"How did they get in?" Hercules asked in confusion.

"Through the tunnels," the woman replied. "Pasiphae knows all the city's secrets."

Hercules blinked in surprise. He had been in the tunnels under the city, they were disgusting, fetid and foul, he would not have believed Pasiphae would stoop to it, her dignity and pride must have suffered greatly in taking that route. But at the same time, it proved her determination that she would endure it.

"Pasiphae wouldn't kill _Jason_," Hercules said meaningfully. They both knew that Jason was Pasiphae's son, but he couldn't out and say it because neither Jason nor Ariadne were aware, and he had been sworn to secrecy.

"She might," the Oracle replied, just as meaningfully. "Jason would stand between her and the throne. She will not allow it."

Hercules was stunned, his mouth opened to argue the point but it was difficult to do without revealing the relationship. The seer had to be wrong. No woman would kill her own son, it would be inhuman, even Pasiphae wasn't such a monster.

"Lay him down," the Oracle urged, "and I will do for him what I can."

Hercules carefully lowered his friend to the floor and the seer knelt beside him, glancing around furtively like she expected men to burst into the temple at any moment. Nimble fingers removed the vest Pythagoras had wrapped around Jason's shoulder and then she removed the sodden and torn shirt leaving him bare chested.

With the wound fully exposed, Ariadne brought a hand to her mouth and turned her head away, and Hercules felt a bit squeamish. It was a gaping injury, deep and ugly, too much of what lay under the skin was visible. Hercules suspected the knife might have penetrated all the way through to other side and the thought made him squirm. He met Pythagoras' look of anguish, and moved toward Ariadne, put an arm around her shoulder, without regard for whether it was appropriate or what she wanted because he really needed some comfort. The queen took no offence at the presumptive contact, she buried her head in his chest and her shoulders shook as she cried quietly, but it only lasted a moment before it subsided into deep breathing as she tried stay in control.

The Oracle had a large pouch slung across her shoulder and she reached into it, producing a folded cloth, a rolled bandage and a bundle of fresh herbs tied together. _She knew this was going to happen_, Hercules thought. She was too well prepared for it to be a surprise. And he felt a buzz of irritation that she was prepared after the fact and not before, she might have warned them.

"I will need your help," she said to Pythagoras, and the mathematician disarmed himself hurriedly, placed the sword and shield he was carrying on the ground with a clatter, then moved to the other side of Jason, knelt across from her.

The cloth and bandage were handed to Pythagoras with the instruction, "When I have packed the wound with herbs, tie it tightly."

Pythagoras nodded.

The seer closed her eyes and crushed the herbs between her hands, chanting quietly as she did so, too low for Hercules to hear the words. The herbs bore a fragrant smell, even from a few paces away they tickled Hercules nose, reminding him of the street market, making him a bit hungry. The Oracle opened her eyes and pressed the crushed herbs onto the injured shoulder, still chanting. She drew back and inclined her head to Pythagoras, but didn't interrupt her recitation, and the blond man deftly dressed the wound, placing the cloth over the gash and winding the bandage high around Jason's chest, to keep the herb mix in place and the injury tightly bound.

When Pythagoras was done the seer finished her chanting and gave the mathematician a small appreciative smile, which he returned. He gained his feet, moved out of the way, and armed himself with the sword and shield once more.

The woman reached into her pouch and produced a small vial, pulled the stopper and waved it under Jason's nose. His head jerked away as he inhaled a sharp breath, his eyelids fluttered on a cough and a groan.

"Where am I?" he croaked, looking around blearily.

"In the temple," the oracle returned in her gentle voice, reaching inside her pouch to produce another vial. "Drink this," she instructed, bringing the small bottle to Jason's lips, the other hand raising his head, giving him no opportunity to deny her request.

The liquid made Jason wince as he drank. "What is it?"

"It will help with the pain," she replied.

His eyes widened as he suddenly remembered the night's events and he looked around wildly. "Where's Ariadne?" He jammed his elbows beneath him, intending to rise, and cried out at the burst of agony, collapsing back to the ground.

Ariadne hurried into his line of sight and crouched beside him. "I'm here."

Jason's face wrinkled in dismay. "Why are you still in the city? You need to leave."

"We will Jason," she placated. "We are leaving now."

"Go without me," he urged with desperate eyes. "I'll catch up later."

Ariadne pressed her lips together reproachfully. "We won't leave without you."

"It's not me they want," he exclaimed. "Something is happening in the palace, there is a plot against you and you need to get away. Hercules and Pythagoras will protect you. Go with them."

Ariadne shifted her attention to the oracle. "Can we move him?"

The woman expelled a rueful breath. "I don't think you have a choice."

Jason wrapped his fingers around Ariadne's wrist and stared at her plaintively. "Don't be stupid about this. Just go."

"Do you honestly believe I would leave you now?" she bristled, pinning him with a steely glare.

"Don't – Don't make this - You should – I mean respectfully -" he blinked long in sufferance. "It's hard to argue with a queen."

"Impossible," she returned humorlessly and flicked her gaze to Hercules. "Would you mind?" she said, motioning with a tip of her head for him to pick up Jason.

"Be gentle," she added, as the big man crouched behind the injured man and slid hands underneath him. Hercules frowned in passing offense at the warning, it went without saying that he would be gentle.

Jason groaned as he was raised to a sitting position, his head dropped to his chest and his hand automatically pressed against his sore shoulder, trying to brace it, minimize the movement and Hercules winced in sympathy.

"You ready?" Hercules asked, as he wound his arms around Jason's torso, preparing to lift him to a stand.

"Yeah," Jason sighed unenthusiastically and Hercules raised him to his feet as smoothly as he could, held onto him tightly as Jason groaned deeply and struggled to make his legs hold any weight, his knees buckling and uncooperative.

"This is pathetic," Jason muttered under his breath. "You really should leave me."

Hercules didn't dignify it with a response. He balanced Jason's body against him and ducked his head under Jason's right arm, once again in the familiar hold that would allow him to carry his friend. It felt strange with his hand against skin at Jason's stomach, he felt the need to be more delicate, worried his rough fingers might hurt.

"There is another way out of the temple," the Oracle advised, gaze darting around nervously, clearly keen for the group to make their escape. "Pasiphae's men will be in the square by now."

"Pasiphae," Jason breathed, regarding the seer soberly, and Hercules realized he'd missed the exposition.

"I'll explain later," Hercules said, "but long story short, Pasiphae has taken over the palace."

Jason's expression hardened and his eyes sought out Ariadne's. The Queen met his gaze and nodded lightly. "It is always Pasiphae," she commented through tight lips.

"Where is my sword?" Jason asked, his left hand patting clumsily at his hip, and it was no coincidence that talk of Pasiphae had Jason reaching for his weapon. A familiar weight blanketed Hercules, the heavy secret he had borne for months, that Pasiphae was Jason's mother, pricked at his conscience. _Someone should tell him_, he thought. _Jason should know. _But as always, he kept his tongue quiet.

Pythagoras handed Jason's sword to Hercules, who slotted it into the sheath at Jason's hip, and in turn, Ariadne handed the sword they had taken from the dead guard to Pythagoras, relieved to be free of it.

"This way," the Oracle prompted, and led them down stairs that Hercules had never noticed before, through an unobtrusive hole in the floor behind a pillar, not easily seen from the nave. It took them into a large crypt and the lack of light made it difficult to pass through. Even with eyes adjusted to dark it was mostly black around them, they had to fumble their way around hidden objects, and for the second time that night Hercules thought, _there could be anything in here_. He tried not to find any omen in being surrounded by death, stone coffins littered the room, the smell of mold and dank offended his nostrils.

"This is cheerful," Hercules commented.

"It is indicative of the evening," Pythagoras returned, a voice in the dark.

"The exit is to the left," the Oracle advised. "Make your way toward that wall."

Jason was becoming more capable as they progressed, his steps more assured, less reliant on Hercules to keep him upright. Whatever the Oracle had given him was having a marked effect and Hercules was delighted because he was already feeling the strain of carrying him, he would have been crippled by the time they reached the forest.

A gust of fresh air blew through the room and Hercules breathed it in gratefully. Jason unwound his arm from around Hercules' neck and the big man watched him closely for a moment, wary of him faltering, but he appeared steady as he moved toward the breach in the wall, the moon and stars lighting his way, and Hercules followed after him.

As Pythagoras was about to pass through the opening the Oracle said, "Take this," and removed the pouch she had slung over her shoulder, placing it over the blond head. "You may need it later."

Pythagoras darted eyes to Jason. "I hope not."

"Thank you," Ariadne offered the seer as she exited, emotion in her voice. "I am so grateful."

The Oracle gave her a warm smile. "Be safe. May the Gods be with you."

As the opening to the temple closed behind them, the group found themselves in a deserted alleyway. Hercules peered left and right getting his bearings, and in his mind tried to picture the position of the temple relative to the nearest tavern so that he could figure out where they were, nodding his head as it snapped in place.

"How do we make our escape from the city?" Pythagoras asked. "Given that we can't sneak out through the tunnels and will have to leave by one of the gates."

"Why- Why can't we use the tunnels?" Jason asked in confusion.

"Because Pasiphae is using them," Hercules returned.

Ariadne piped up. "We should assume that Pasiphae already has men at the gates."

"Yes, we should," Pythagoras agreed.

There was silence among them, each lost in thoughts of escape. Finally Hercules said, "Look, I'm going to make a suggestion that may not be popular. I think we should spend the night in the city, and try to make our escape tomorrow."

Pythagoras shook his head slowly, lips pursed. "I think it would be dangerous to linger. It will give Pasiphae an opportunity to strengthen her grip on the city. It will be harder to leave tomorrow than it will be tonight."

"But look at us," Hercules persisted. "Jason is shirtless, I'm covered in blood, the queen… looks like the queen. I believe we should take a night to think things through and better prepare ourselves."

"If we take a night we may find ourselves stuck in the city, unable to get out. And Jason is moving freely thanks to the oracle's tincture, he may not be so well tomorrow." The mathematician exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Your Majesty, what are your thoughts?"

Ariadne was pensive. "You are both right. Pasiphae's men will be especially wary tonight, expecting me to escape the city, and we are very noticeable. But the longer we leave it, the more of Pasiphae's men will flood the streets, and very quickly it will become impossible to escape. Jason, what do you suggest?"

The queen turned enquiring eyes to the injured man and he seemed oblivious to the attention. "Jason?" she prompted, creasing her brow.

"Oh- um- what?" Jason regarded her blankly and his eyes glittered in the moonlight, glazed and bright. "I- I-" He blew out a breath. "I'll be honest, I- um," he squinted in concentration, "I can barely finish a – uh – a- a thought right now. Um. But on the plus side – uh- I am feeling no pain."

A lop-sided smile made Hercules heart sink. His lips parted as he gaped at Pythagoras in despair. It seemed short sighted of the Oracle to alleviate Jason's pain at the expense of his brain. Not that he begrudged his friend some relief, it was nice for him, but Jason was the tactical one, they needed his considered opinion.

Pythagoras pressed a hand into the small of Hercules back and moved him away a few steps, out of earshot of the others. Under his breath he said, "Perhaps you are right. I don't know how far we can get with Jason like this. I can stay with him in the city if you want to escape with the queen."

"No," Ariadne interjected in a fierce whisper, the men unaware that she had followed. "We stay together."

"Your majesty," Pythagoras dipped his head respectfully, but the twist of his mouth telegraphed his disagreement. "The considerations for you and Jason are different. I am worried for your safety. I am worried for his health. I don't know that staying together is the best option."

"I will not leave Jason behind," Ariadne insisted. "We all stay together, I will not hear otherwise."

Pythagoras' lips turned down unhappily and he glanced at Hercules. "Then I suppose we must stay in the city tonight. Jason will be furious when his senses return."

Further argument was halted at the sound of a crash behind them. Hercules whipped his head around to find a soldier lying on the ground next to Jason, and watched as his friend plunged his sword ferociously into the man's throat. It happened so fast. Hercules blinked, frozen for a moment, unable to believe that they hadn't heard the soldier approach. He fervently hoped the man was Colchean, that Jason hadn't unwittingly killed one of the Atlantis guard, they could use an ally right now and it was difficult to tell a soldier's allegiance in the dark.

Jason tugged the sword free of the dying man, staggered a few steps to a nearby wall and slid heavily to a sit.

Hercules breath caught in his throat, worried that Jason had suffered a fresh injury, and Pythagoras bounded to their friend's side with Ariadne trailing behind. The big man moved instead to the felled soldier, to make sure he was no longer a threat and could tell by the curve of his shield, the shape of his helmet, that he was Colchean. It amazed him that Jason had the wherewithal and strength to recognize the threat and overpower the enemy soldier, his instincts and ability were remarkable.

Assured that the man posed no further danger, Hercules took the few quick steps to the group and crouched beside Pythagoras. "Is he alright?" Hercules asked.

"The spirit is willing…" Jason replied, then knitted his brow. Hercules frowned, unsure what he meant by it.

"He is no worse than he was before," Pythagoras offered.

"Take his – get his – you know-" Jason fluttered his hand up and down his chest, a gesture that was difficult to decipher.

"Armour?" Hercules finished dubiously.

"Yes," Jason said emphatically. "Armour," he repeated under his breath, as if to remember it for next time, and it made Hercules heart sting witnessing his struggle.

"Why do you want his armour?" Hercules queried, reluctant to spend the time it would take to de-clothe the man, and not sure they should be taking suggestions from Jason.

"Options," Jason replied simply.

Hercules looked questioningly at Pythagoras. "We might be able to use it to escape the city," the mathematician mused. "Couldn't hurt to have it."

If they were going to take the armour then they needed to take all of it, top to toe, because being decked out in anything less would be suspicious. As they pulled the leather off the still warm body, Hercules became increasingly uneasy about being found by another enemy guard. Where there was one there were bound to be more.

Ariadne sat beside Jason, holding his hand, watching the men unclothe the enemy.

"We're wasting time," Hercules muttered to Pythagoras.

"We are planning ahead," Pythagoras disagreed.

"Soon the city will be crawling with Colcheans and we should be making our way to safety, not dawdling in the streets."

The mathematician sighed. "We may be grateful for this armor tomorrow. I really don't know how we are going to find our way out of the city."

As they tugged the last of the dead man's protective gear from his body, Ariadne crouched at Hercules shoulder and said quietly, "I don't think Jason is well."

"He has a hole in his chest," the big man returned drolly. "Is he worse than that?"

"He is shaking," she said, brows drawn together in worry. "He is shaking quite badly, and it doesn't seem to be subsiding."

Hercules and Pythagoras exchanged a wordless glance before the mathematician rose and hastened over to their stricken friend. The night was starting to seem endless to Hercules, lurching from one problem to the next, he felt put upon and resentful and sent a silent prayer to the Gods to give them a break.

He gathered the leather and metal armour into a pile and didn't look toward Jason, didn't want to be diverted while he considered where to dump the guard's scantily clad body. His eyes alighted on a cart in the gloom nearby and he figured that was good enough, if he put the body in the cart it wouldn't be immediately apparent to any soldier who might patrol the area. With arms under the dead man's shoulders he dragged the body and dumped it unceremoniously into the cart, his eyes darting right and left to make sure there was no one in the vicinity to witness the deed.

Pythagoras approached as he walked back to the group. "Jason is not very well," the blond man advised somberly. "I think sleep might help. Any ideas for where we could go? We can't stay in the street."

"Actually I've been thinking about that," Hercules returned. "I have a friend who is visiting his daughter in Athens, his house will be vacant, we can hideout there. If I can just remember which is his house."

"What friend?" Pythagoras returned suspiciously. "I thought I knew all your friends."

"Darrick. Big guy. Meaty arms. You've met him."

"When did I meet him?"

Hercules returned impatiently, "Does it really matter? Let's get moving before another of Pasiphae's men stumbles across us."

Hercules strode over to where Jason sat. "Okay muscles, can you stand?"

With concerning sluggishness Jason raised his eyes, tilted his head back to find Hercules face. He struck out a clumsy hand, grasping at the wall. "The spirit is willing," he muttered earnestly, and it chilled Hercules to hear him repeat nonsense. "But the- the- flesh- the flesh-."

"Yeah okay," Hercules cut in, winding an arm around Jason's midriff and hauling him to his feet. The injured man wobbled drunkenly in Hercules arms, taking a moment for his legs to firm underneath him.

Jason didn't grimace or show any evidence of being in pain but he sagged like he was exhausted, his head hung low, and he shivered like he was freezing, which wasn't right, the night wasn't cold, and Hercules didn't want to consider what it meant, that was a worry for Pythagoras.

Ariadne cast wide mournful eyes at her stricken beloved.

"I hate to ask this of you," Hercules addressed the queen, "but would you mind carrying the armour we just stole."

"Yes, of course," she answered, and went to retrieve it.

"Perhaps you could swap out the shield," Hercules said to Pythagoras. "I don't think we need two of them." Pythagoras nodded and followed after Ariadne.

"I miss music," Jason sighed, and Hercules looked at him sharply, wondering what on earth would prompt a comment about music right now. "There used to be so- so much of it- so much of it. And now there's nothing. And I try to- to play it in my head, but it's getting harder."

Hercules stared at him for a long moment, mutely dismayed, no idea what he was talking about or why he was bringing it up. Jason was speaking so seriously, like it was a reasonable conversation, and it troubled Hercules, caused a tight squeeze in his chest, that his friend was sliding around mentally, no longer on solid ground. Injury for Jason in the past had followed a fairly predictable course – get hurt, pass out, recover quickly – it had never involved a mental component. Presumably it was the oracle's potion causing the deviation from the norm, he hoped that's what it was, and it was an unwelcome side effect.

The queen struggled to hold the armour comfortably but made no complaint as she moved to Hercules side.

"I believe we are ready to continue," Pythagoras announced. "Where is this house we are aiming for?"

"You know where the Goat Side tavern is?" Hercules returned.

The mathematician frowned. "They all look the same to me. Which one is that?"

"It's the one…" Hercules struggled to describe it because they did all look the same. "Near the east wall, about two streets back. With Franco. You know, Franco."

"How would I know Franco?" Pythagoras replied evenly.

"Could you make an effort?" Hercules griped with diminishing patience. "Darrick's house is near Goat Side. If you can get us to the tavern, I can find Darrick's house."

"East wall," Pythagoras confirmed. "Right."

"Keep your guard up," Hercules warned. "You will be eyes for all of us, so keep us safe."

Pythagoras swallowed. "Right," he repeated with less confidence.

The group made their way furtively through the city, Pythagoras a few steps in front, all staying hidden in the shadows. The streets were mostly empty, but every so often the mathematician would raise his hand to indicate someone nearby and they would press themselves into a dark corner and hold their breath waiting for the person to pass.

Jason was a problem. He would not stop talking. He had lost his grasp on what was going on around him, the gravity of the situation. With his young friend's arm slung around his neck, more to keep him moving than because he was incapable, Hercules had never heard Jason ramble so much. It wasn't loud, a low murmur, mostly talking to himself, but it was bizarrely out of character. Ordinarily Jason wouldn't say more than two words, the silent brooding type, but tonight he was blurting everything that came into his head. It was random and confused and repetitive and _so_ distracting. Hercules swung between trying to follow what he was saying and trying to ignore it, most of it made no sense.

A few times Hercules clapped a hand over his friend's mouth to muffle the noise, shushed him fiercely, and Jason would quiet for a few minutes and almost appear to be aware of their situation, but then a misdirected thought would tumble from his lips and inspire a rush of disordered soliloquies. On any other occasion it might have been funny but on _this_ occasion it was inconvenient and sharply peculiar. It was complicated by Jason's mind still being partially present, he could answer a question or respond to a comment but there was an odd disconnect about where he thought he was and what he thought they were doing- he had no idea. It was unsettling.

As they neared their destination Jason stopped talking, and it bothered Hercules in the same way as the too much talking had. He slid eyes to him. "You still with me?"

There was a long pause before Jason answered. "Yeah."

"You run out of weird and inappropriate things to say?"

Another long pause. "Am I dying?"

"Ah, there we go," Hercules said lightly, and twisted his head to see where Ariadne was, hoping she hadn't heard the question. His stomach flipped painfully, because _maybe_, maybe Jason was dying, a lesser man probably would be, there was a great bloody hole in his chest. He didn't want to entertain the possibility.

"You're walking around," Hercules pointed out. "Why would you think you're dying?"

"I don't know," Jason mumbled. "I can't tell anymore.

And suddenly he collapsed. It was so abrupt, from capable to unconscious, that Hercules wasn't prepared for it, for the heavy pull on him as Jason's legs folded, his body pitched forward, and the big man stumbled a few steps with the unexpected shift in weight. He cursed under his breath as he tried to regain his balance, and in the end slung Jason over his shoulder, offering him a silent apology for doing so in front of Ariadne because it wasn't a dignified way to be carried.

Impatience gripped him. Pythagoras was leading them too cautiously, and although he could see the merit in the vigilance, he'd had enough of it. They needed to lay Jason down, let him rest, and brainstorm a plan to get the queen out of the city, it was enough of roaming the streets. He picked up his pace, strode past Pythagoras and ignored the questioning bewilderment in the blue eyes as he passed.

The streetscape looked vaguely familiar. Goat Side wasn't a tavern that he frequented often, too far from their house, but he'd been there more than a handful of times and he ranged his eyes left and right, looking for the red door that marked its entry. It was close, he knew, but the alley looked much different in the day, street stalls would have guided him, or likely looking patrons. He took a chance on turning right, starting to feel directionally challenged, and let out a quiet triumphant cry when the door came into view. Darrick's house was two doors away, but was it south or north? He made an educated guess and banged on the entry, just to be sure no-one was inside and finally felt like the Gods were smiling on them when the knock went unanswered.

* * *

**AN:** Can I just say how much I love the idea of Jason rambling. The things that could come out of his mouth, it's a potential gold mine. If anyone knows of a rambling fic, or feels minded to write one, could you please let me know because I would love to read it.


	3. Chapter 3

Some Ariadne POV.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Ariadne was uncomfortable about breaking the law. Entering a man's house without his knowledge or consent couldn't be condoned and she hesitated for a moment. What did it really matter if she was presumptive with a man's house when her life was at risk, Jason's life was at risk, the future of Atlantis was at risk? It was a small thing, an excusable misdeed, but still, she felt it, as she crossed the threshold of an unknown man's house and followed Hercules inside.

She stood just inside the entry for a moment, surveying the space with eyes now efficient in the dark. Pythagoras entered last and gently closed the door, unwilling to let a slam give them away. The abode was modest, a large open living space with a few rooms running off it, not unlike the house the three men lived in, a common style in the city. It felt refreshingly still and safe after all the darting around they had done and Ariadne expelled a breath.

Hercules headed immediately for the bedroom with Jason over his shoulder while Pythagoras lay down the sword and shield he was carrying onto a square wooden dining table and moved into the kitchen. Neither of the men paid any attention to Ariadne, didn't offer to relieve her of the armour she was carrying, and she found it jarring, accustomed to being waited on. She dropped the load onto the floor where she stood then trailed into the bedroom after Hercules, feeling awkward and out of place.

It was a surprisingly large bed that Jason had been laid on, a marital bed, and the sight of it made Ariadne tired. Since being stabbed a month back she found she wearied easily, her stamina hadn't quite recovered and it frustrated her, it made her feel weak that she was still struggling with her health when the wound was fully healed. Although given the lateness of the hour she could perhaps forgive herself for being tired now.

While Hercules untied Jason's sandals, Ariadne sat beside his hip and gazed forlornly at his face. There was enough of the moons pale gloom that she could see him clearly and even in sleep Jason was beautiful to look at, but she could tell he wasn't well, his breathing wasn't quite right, his lips were bloodless and there was a slackness to his features that hinted at an emptiness inside, that he was far away.

She reached for his hand, slid her fingers between his and was alarmed by how cold he was, his skin like ice.

"He is very cold," Ariadne stated, turning concerned eyes to Hercules.

The big man dropped the second of Jason's sandals onto the floor. "I noticed. Lets get him under the covers."

Between them they managed to pull the bedding from underneath Jason and stretch it over the top of him. He seemed so vulnerable, completely unaware as he was lifted and moved and it caused a flutter in Ariadne's chest, she had never considered him vulnerable before, she had only ever viewed him as strong and capable, it was a shock to be confronted by his frailty, by how human he was.

Tears pricked her eyes and guilt welled inside as she stroked fingers through his hair and down his cheek. It was because of her that he was in this condition. If not for his gallantry, his instinct to protect her, the assassin's knife might have struck true and embedded in her chest. Only by coincidence was Jason even at the palace, on any ordinary evening she would have been alone, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and now he was suffering for it.

A surge of hatred toward Pasiphae made her shiver. The woman was a curse. How her father had fallen for the manipulation and disingenuousness, and made Pasiphae his wife, she would never understand. From a young age Ariadne had known who her stepmother was, seen through the false smiles and insincere words. And now, even with her father dead, she couldn't be rid of her. Pasiphae would stop at nothing to take what didn't belong to her and claim the throne of Atlantis.

Thing was, Ariadne might possibly give up the throne to the right person, someone deserving of the honour with a valid claim (her brother for instance). She didn't feel particularly adept at ruling and she was hopeless at intrigue, too straightforward and trusting to detect betrayal and dissension, she had already been surprised by it a few times which reflected badly on her. Maybe it was because she was still new to the role that she felt insecure, not yet a year since she had been crowned, possibly the crown would fit her more comfortably with experience, but she couldn't help feeling Atlantis could be better served by someone else. Not Pasiphae! She would hold onto the crown with grim determination, rather die than allow the throne to Pasiphae.

Pythagoras entered the room with a lighted candle and placed it on the table beside the bed. The feeble glow highlighted the paleness of Jason's skin, made it shine like marble and Ariadne peered at the blond man, trying to gauge from his expression how desperate he thought the situation. Pythagoras was pensive, rested fingers against his mouth as he stared at the injured man, then shifted his gaze to the queen and gave her a small smile.

"He should be much better when he wakes," Pythagoras said.

"Do you think-" there was a quaver in Ariadne's voice and a lump in her throat. "Do you believe he will survive?"

"Jason is very hard to kill," he returned, and she frowned a little at the comment, it didn't alleviate her concern, it wasn't a definite answer.

"Can I talk to you outside," Hercules said to Pythagoras, and the men exited the room together.

If they were trying to converse out of earshot they should have wandered further than right outside the door because Ariadne could hear every word that followed.

"I know you'll want to sit with him tonight," Hercules said in his gruff voice, "but I think we should do it in shifts. You can't afford to be exhausted if we are to make our escape from the city tomorrow."

"You can speak of shifts," Pythagoras replied, "but I doubt I will get any sleep, whether I am beside him or not."

"Pythagoras," there was gentle reproach in Hercules tone. "He'll be fine. He's always fine. And you losing sleep won't help him."

"Just because he has been fine in the past, doesn't mean he will be fine this time." The mathematician expelled a breath. "I'm worried. This feels different."

"He will be fine," Hercules returned emphatically. "He is touched by the Gods, they won't let him die."

Pythagoras' reply was too low to catch, something like, "They don't seem to mind him getting hurt." The fact that Ariadne was straining to hear it gave her a twinge of guilt.

Hercules continued, "I'm going to sleep in the other room. I want you to wake me in a few hours and we'll changeover." There was a pause. "What should we do about the queen?"

Ariadne bristled. It was not for them to make any decisions regarding her.

"I doubt she will leave his side," Pythagoras predicted. "You remember what Jason was like when she was hurt. I expect it to be the same."

"Gods, I hope not," Hercules grumbled.

The young woman creased her brow as she gazed into her fiancée's face. _What was he like when I was hurt? _ From her perspective he had been upbeat and optimistic, doting and devoted. What had she missed?

Pythagoras returned to the room and sat on the bed opposite the queen. He pressed his palm against Jason's forehead then shifted to feel the temperature of the skin at his chest and frowned thoughtfully.

"Is he well?" the queen asked anxiously.

The blond man flicked eyes to her. "I wish he were warmer. Perhaps I will heat some water and see if he will drink."

The night passed slowly. Ariadne felt useless, she had no skill as a healer and a number of times she thought perhaps she should retire to a different room and let Pythagoras minister to Jason alone, she was in the way. But she couldn't bring herself to leave. She wanted to see every moment of how he fared, wanted to be beside him if he should open his eyes.

If it had been Hercules in the room there might have been some idle conversation, Hercules couldn't help but fill a silence with his voice. And she couldn't help thinking that she and Pythagoras _should_ be talking, discussing escape from the city, fleshing out some ideas, considering the different factors. But Pythagoras was single minded in his focus upon Jason. The few words to come out of his mouth related to Jason's condition, _he seems to be getting warmer, he seems to be breathing easier,_ there was no chatter and Ariadne felt self conscious about introducing it, diverting him from his task.

With the night at its darkest, the candle burned down, Ariadne lay on the bed beside Jason, her body turned toward him, her hand entwined in his. Ordinarily she would never had assumed such a presumptuous position, if it had been anyone else in the bed she would have moved a chair into the room and maintained a dignified distance, but one of the things that had touched her when she was ill was waking up to find Jason asleep beside her, fully clothed and on top of the bedding, protectively, adorably close. She wanted to offer him the same small pleasure.

She bent Jason's arm toward her, so that his hand was at her chest and stared at it, clasped and unclasped her fingers to feel his grip in hers and wished, _wished_, he would return her grasp, give some sign that he knew she was there.

After hours spent trying to warm him, Jason had become feverish and now Pythagoras was trying to cool him down, stroking water down his face and body. It was a demoralizing turn of events, a swing from one extreme to the other. The mathematician took it in his stride, dismayed but not distraught and Ariadne appreciated his composure, she took her cues from him and his calm steadiness made her calm and steady, prevented her from sliding into despair.

"It's too far," Jason said suddenly, loud in the stillness. "We'll never make it."

The young queen cut her gaze to his face and saw that his eyes were still closed.

"Follow me. Stay low," he muttered.

She glanced at Pythagoras, on the other side of Jason with a cloth in his hand and a bowl in his lap. He met the queen's troubled eyes and commented, "He is too warm. It is-" he fluttered fingers near his head, "affecting him."

_Wonderful_, she sighed inwardly. _Something new. Sweating, trembling unconsciousness was getting dull. _Pythagoras wasn't panicked by it and she was determined that she wouldn't be either.

"We have to reach the citadel," Jason murmured. "Dion should be there."

Ariadne released Jason's hand and stroked fingers down his face, trying to soothe him with a gentle touch. Pythagoras was right, he was too warm, his face was bathed in perspiration, heat poured off him.

"It's a mess. They've destroyed everything." The young man rolled his head restlessly, then his whole body jerked. "Watch out. Just leave it."

"Jason," Pythagoras called lightly, concern on his face.

The queen changed her position, sat up and swung her legs around so that she was facing him, leaning over him. "Jason. Shhh. Rest easy. Everything is fine." She ran a hand across his head and glanced at the mathematician. "Is there any more you can do for him?"

"Perhaps I could make him a tincture for the fever," he returned uncertainly. "It depends on what is in the pouch the Oracle gave me." He stared thoughtfully at Jason. "Although it won't be easy getting him to drink."

They had already been through it once, trying to get Jason to drink, when Pythagoras had attempted to make him swallow warm water. It had been a miserable failure. Pythagoras had trickled only a small amount into Jason's mouth but the water had pooled at the back of his throat, the instinct to swallow lacking, and the blond man had scrambled to sit him up and get the water out when it had interrupted his breathing. It had been frightening and Ariadne blanched at the idea of trying it again.

"You don't have to stay," Jason murmured, and the young woman was startled, not sure if he was talking to her.

"Of course I will stay," she answered.

"There are so many of them. I don't know how long we will hold."

Her heart sank a little that he was still entangled in the dream. She pondered where he might be, what he was dreaming about. Mention of Dion had her suspecting he was months behind, at the siege of Atlantis, about to face Colcheans. It caused an icy tendril of fear in her stomach, not sure how things might progress, if he might start thrashing around when the battle commenced in his mind, if he might unwittingly become violent.

"Make the tincture," Ariadne suggested, although it sounded like an order and Pythagoras inclined his head, deposited the cloth and bowl onto the floor, and left the room.

"It doesn't look good," Jason muttered. "I'll speak to the queen, and try to get her to leave."

"Jason, I'm here." She reached for his hand and gripped it hard, trying to break through his delirium. "Wake up my love. Wake up and we will talk about more pleasant things."

His eyes flew open and he pushed himself to a sitting position, tearing his hand from her grasp, moving with such unexpectedness that Ariadne drew in a breath and blinked in surprise. He gazed at Ariadne with a strange intensity, seeing her but not truly aware.

"You have to leave the city," he implored.

"Tomorrow," she promised, cupping her hand to his cheek. "Tomorrow we will leave the city. Tonight you must sleep."

"The Colcheans have breached the walls. You're not safe."

"I know." It was unclear if he was referring to the coup at the palace or if he was still stuck months behind. It was confusing. "For tonight we are safe. You must sleep."

He twisted his head, lingering a look behind and she wondered what he was seeing, there was only a wall behind. "I have to return to the battle."

"No!" she exclaimed, heart skipping at the thought of him fighting, remembering how quickly he had killed the soldier in the street earlier. Her eyes flitted toward the door, where she knew Pythagoras was just beyond, she considered calling for him. "No. You must stay with me. You must protect your queen."

He turned his head to her, glassy eyed, his gaze too distant. "I have to return to my friends."

"Your friends will be fine," she soothed. "You must stay with me. It is your duty Jason. You must protect your queen."

His expression was blank and unreadable, she couldn't tell if he could hear her or not. His gaze travelled the room and it was eerie that his eyes were open but he wasn't really present, she didn't know if he was viewing what lay around them or something completely different. With a small grunt he pressed his hand hard against his hip and examined the area. "This damn wound keeps opening," he uttered irritatedly.

Ariadne peered at his fingers, trying to see what lay beneath, what troubled him, but could see nothing beside a faint scar. She found it odd that he appeared to be bothered by a phantom injury but didn't notice the actual injury in his chest, the way his left arm hung uselessly at his side.

"You should probably lie down and let it heal," Ariadne suggested, feeling foolish with the make believe, conversing about things she couldn't see and didn't know. "Lie down," she commanded, and to her delighted surprise he did, he eased himself down and returned his head to the pillow, closing his eyes. She was breathless with relief, heart thumping wildly. "Thank you," she whispered, running a gentle hand across his head.

But he was still for only a few minutes before he started muttering again, shifting uncomfortably to try and escape the heat. It was a relief when Pythagoras returned with a couple of vials in his hand.

"We're going to do it differently this time," Pythagoras said, and flicked his brows up and down hopefully. "I'm going to wake him first, then get him to drink." Under his breath he added, "That should be achievable."

Ariadne quirked an eyebrow, unconvinced by the optimism.

Pythagoras pulled the stopper from one of the bottles, wincing at the pungency of the odor within and waved it under Jason's nose. Jason sucked in a sharp breath and rolled his head away, his eyes snapped open and his features hardened into fury. Before Pythagoras could stopper the bottle, Jason had his wrist in a vice like grip.

"Where is she?" Jason growled. "I'll kill that witch."

Ariadne's eyes went wide at the violence in his tone, she gazed at Pythagoras with alarm.

The mathematician blinked, clearly taken aback by the dramatic awakening, but his voice was even and low as he said, "Jason. Jason, it's Pythagoras. I have a drink for you. Let go of my hand."

Jason's brow creased in confusion and he loosened the grip on his friend, his hand dropping to the bed. "Pythagoras?"

"Yes. I have something for you to drink." The mathematician quickly stoppered the acrid bottle, dropped it onto the bedding and pulled the stopper from the other bottle in his hand.

The injured man's eyes were dull and unfocused, struggling to comprehend. "I thought you were with Ariadne."

Pythagoras' brows tripped up in surprise. "Yes. I am with Ariadne. I am going to give you a draught and I want you to drink it."

"How is she?" Jason asked earnestly. "How is Ariadne?"

For a moment the young queen considered replying, assuring Jason that she was well but she didn't want to complicate the conversation, tax his mind, so she stayed silent.

The mathematician slid a hand behind Jason's head and lifted it a few inches, balancing the small bottle at his lips. "Ariadne is fine. I have a drink for you."

"I'm going to kill Medea," Jason vowed solemnly. "I'm going to kill her for what she did."

The queen realized with a start that Jason's thoughts were once again elsewhere, in the aftermath of Medea stabbing her. She wondered what it meant that Jason's untethered mind had him reliving two of his most harrowing days, the siege of Atlantis and Medea nearly killing her. Perhaps they weighed on him heavily.

"You already tried that and it didn't work out. Just drink." Pythagoras tipped the liquid slightly, a drop falling onto Jason's lips and he understood what was required of him, parted his lips and allowed the potion inside.

Jason grimaced as the liquid went down and groaned his disgust when it was swallowed. "That tastes terrible. Don't make it again."

"Very well," Pythagoras replied with a hinted smile and returned Jason's head to the pillow.

"Will Ariadne survive?"

Jason sounded so concerned, edging on despair, that the young woman caught his hand and squeezed it tightly. He didn't seem to notice.

"Yes," Pythagoras said, his expression tender. "Ariadne will survive."

"I'm going to kill Medea. I will kill her."

It chilled Ariadne to hear Jason talk of killing. Even in this state, when he was weak and shaking and overheated, it still sounded like a real threat.

"I don't think you have it in you," Pythagoras returned gently. "And I mean it as a compliment. Go to sleep."

Jason gave the barest of nods as his eyelids slid closed.

Pythagoras let out an audible sigh. "That went reasonably well. Now we have to wait and see if the potion is effective." He picked up the bowl from the floor, extracted the cloth and patted at the sheen on Jason's brow.

"Is this what it was like when I was injured?" Ariadne enquired, starting to get a new perspective on what Jason might have suffered when she had been stabbed.

"Pretty much," Pythagoras admitted. "A lot of waiting and worrying."

"What was Jason like? How did he bear it?"

For a moment Pythagoras regarded her and she could tell from his eyes that he was trying to decide whether to be honest or something less. By the way he averted his gaze and shook his curls ruefully she figured he was about to be honest.

"He did not bear it well," the mathematician offered with a wry huff of air. "He could not sleep, he could not eat, he paced endlessly. Nothing could help him. Nothing could soothe him." Pythagoras paused, lost in the memory. "He was wracked with guilt. He blamed himself for Medea stabbing you. And he became so angry, so vengeful, so full of-," he struggled to find the right words, "so full of bitterness. It was a difficult time, watching him and watching you." Pythagoras quieted, his shoulders dropped and he flicked guilty eyes to the queen. "That was too much, wasn't it? I'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all that, words just kept coming out of my mouth. Tiredness is affecting my judgment."

"No, I did ask," she returned, but she found his answer unsettling. She probably would have preferred to hear that Jason had been stoic and composed. There was another side to her betrothed, she knew, a dark and dangerous side that she had glimpsed a few times. It was breathtaking how ferocious he could be in a fight, how coldly he could take a man's life, how willing he was to risk himself. It wasn't a side that she liked to dwell on because she didn't want to be afraid of him, or afraid for him, but she knew it was there, that violence and darkness lurked just below the surface. In a hard world he probably needed it to survive but she wanted to see it as little as possible.

Ariadne pressed fingers into her eyes trying to relieve the sting of weariness.

"Lay down and get some sleep," Pythagoras suggested kindly. "I'll watch over him."

Refusal sprung to her lips. It didn't seem right to abandon Pythagoras when Jason was still in the grip of fever, tossing his head and muttering incoherently. But she was so tired. And she figured she could observe Jason just as well lying down as she could sitting up.

Lips pressing against hers, soft and gentle, awakened Ariadne. Her eyelids snapped open to find Jason lying on his side, gazing at her with clear eyes, his hand pressed against his injured shoulder like a buttress, a small smile at his lips.

"Good morning beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky. "I couldn't help myself, those lips looked like they needed kissing."

The lucidity was disorienting. Ariadne was struck dumb for a moment, not sure whether to trust it. She skittered her gaze around the room to get her bearings. From the amount of light and the coolness in the air she gauged it was just past dawn, she must have slept for an hour or two. "Good morning," she finally returned and stroked a hand down his rough cheek, delighted by how temperate it felt.

"You're in bed with me," Jason lightly teased, "and I love that, but I can't help noticing that we're not in the forest. I'm trying not to overreact, but I am slightly alarmed by it. Where are we exactly?" He finished the sentence raising his brows, seeking an explanation.

Ariadne offered him a fragile smile and could feel a crush of emotion building inside her. The difference in him was so marked. After a very long and stressful night, when she had honestly and not unreasonably considered that he might die, he sounded normal and unaffected. All that she had been holding onto and straining to contain, all the fear and dread, doubt and despair, pushed for release as relief flooded through her and to her disappointment she started to cry. She wanted to be braver for him.

"Oh. No," he uttered in dismay. "No tears. It doesn't need tears."

Through blurred vision Ariadne saw Pythagoras rise from a chair beside the bed and silently leave the room. Jason slid his arm under her shoulders and pulled her closer, until she was buried in his neck, her head tucked under his chin.

"I'm sorry," Jason whispered as he stroked her hair. "Please don't be sad. Everything will work out. Everything will be fine."

They remained curled together for some time. Even after the tears subsided she remained in the pose, enjoying the closeness. Finally she drew away, shifted a few inches backward so that she could look at him and discovered his eyes were closed, that he'd fallen asleep. Her heart ached with how handsome he was, the sun's early rays giving him a warm glow that complimented his soft features and toned body. This time sleep suited him.

She drew his arm from underneath her and felt her strength renewed, she felt like she could move forward now and start thinking about how to solve the crisis at the palace. She took his hand in hers, pressed it softly to her lips, closed her eyes and fell asleep with a smile.

* * *

**AN:** How we going on the old angst-ometer? Red-lining? Lol. I thought so. I didn't love this chapter but after injuring Jason so badly I figured there had to be some fallout.


	4. Chapter 4

Some Pythagoras POV.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Pythagoras was accustomed to Jason being injured, it occurred with dismal regularity, but last night had been something special. It had tested Pythagoras. His healing abilities were not well developed, more academic than practical, he dabbled in it, he made potions and tonics, he had an interest in the properties of various herbs but last night Jason had required more than that. That his friend was still alive today had more to do with luck and fortitude than Pythagoras's skill. And only he had known how dire the situation was. The queen had watched him with calculating eyes, gauging Jason's condition through his reaction, and it had been a strain trying not to reveal his true feelings. He had struggled not to show his despair when Jason was cold, knowing that everything inside him was moving too slowly, fighting to function, and he had struggled not to cry when Jason became hot because that was even worse, exerting his system, the damage it might have done was potentially devastating. That Jason eventually found the right balance in temperature had come from within. That Jason hadn't succumbed to the loss of blood and the pressure it put on his body had come from within, it had little to do with Pythagoras and his best efforts. Whether it was being touched by the Gods that gave his friend extraordinary resilience or just a personal and fortuitous quirk, it had saved his life, and not for the first time.

The blond man sat at the wooden table, his elbows pressed against the hard surface and covered his eyes with both hands feeling exhausted and emotionally drained. If not for the numbing tiredness he might possibly be weeping with relief like Ariadne, he certainly had the urge, just not the energy. After a few minutes his arms began to twitch, weariness threatened to overcome him and with much effort he rose from the table and stumbled into the room where Hercules was sleeping. He was really hoping for another marital bed, something big where he could drop beside his large friend and fall asleep, but it was a narrow, anemic thing and Hercules bulk consumed it all.

Pythagoras put a hand to the big man's shoulder and shook him vigorously. "Wake up. Its your turn."

There was stretching and yawning as Hercules slowly rose to wakefulness and Pythagoras was impatient with it, begrudging of the luxury when he was about to fall asleep standing. "Get up," he demanded harshly.

Hercules heard something in the tone. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up quickly, rubbing his eyes, and Pythagoras collapsed onto the rough, thin mattress with a contented sigh and shuttered his lids.

"How is he?" Hercules asked.

"Go and have a look," Pythagoras mumbled.

"He's fine, isn't he? I told you," Hercules crowed. "I told you he would be fine."

Pythagoras grappled for a suitably scathing comeback and lost interest when nothing came immediately to mind.

"You lack faith Pythagoras," Hercules continued. "It is your biggest failing. You always presume the worst, you need to work on your optimism. And… you were supposed to wake me hours ago."

"I did you a favour," the mathematician griped. "Now do the same for me and let me sleep."

Hercules lingered in the doorway for a moment, his heavy breathing giving him away. He wanted to know what happened during the night, he wanted to ask questions, Pythagoras could feel it, but after an undecided moment he retreated and the mathematician was thankful for it, in no mood to discuss how difficult the night had been.

A murmur of voices brought Pythagoras awake. It felt like he'd only had a moment of sleep, but the high light in the room and the warmth in the air told him differently, that it was possibly near noon. He listened for a moment.

"They'll come house to house soon," Ariadne said.

"That may be a week away," Hercules returned.

"Or it may be tonight." And they lapsed into silence.

Pythagoras rolled to a sit, perched on the edge of the bed, rubbed fingers into his eyes and stretched his neck from side to side. His stomach rumbled loudly and he clapped a hand over it.

He ambled out of the bedroom and found Hercules and Ariadne sitting across from each other at the table.

"There he is," Hercules greeted warmly. "I was going to wake you soon."

Pythagoras joined them at the table, dropped onto a bench seat, and was immediately distracted by the queen's attire, she was no longer dressed in the lovely blue flowing gown she had been wearing when she escaped the palace, it was replaced by something voluminous, rough and drab.

"What are you wearing?" he frowned, his tone indiscreetly betraying how unattractive he found her new garb.

The young woman peered downward, viewing herself with a creased brow and Hercules answered, "We raided Darrick's wardrobe, what he left behind anyway. The queen's outfit was much too nice and noticeable for her to wear out of doors, she'll gain much less attention in one of Darrick's old tunics."

"You've got that right," Pythagoras muttered, and noticed that Hercules had also changed outfit, his shirt was no longer stained with Jason's blood. His new item was a much better fit, like it was made for him. "Is there a shirt for Jason?"

"Oh yes," Hercules returned, his lips twitching with a smile.

"It is very red," Ariadne sighed, not amused. "I think it is ceremonial."

"It is the last shirt in the wardrobe," the big man stated. "It's either that or pin a blanket around him."

"Red will draw every eye to him, he can't wear it," the queen lamented.

"Then he will look dashing in a blanket."

"Or perhaps he could wear a cloak over the top," Pythagoras offered pragmatically and the queen raised her brows favorably at the suggestion, nodding her head slowly.

There was bread and cheese on the table and Pythagoras reached for it hungrily, taking a piece of each and popping it into his mouth, until a thought occurred to him mid-chew, making him frown. "Where did you get food?"

Hercules answered, "I went to the agora and bought as much food as my money would buy, which wasn't much so eat sparingly."

"You what?" Pythagoras choked, brows flying high in horror. "You went outside? Don't you think we should have discussed it first?"

"Discussed it with who? Everyone was asleep. And nobody is looking for a big man with a large appetite, it was fine."

Pythagoras gaped at him, irritated by the risk he had taken. Medea knew them by sight and had probably circulated their name and description to the Colchean soldiers. If anyone had saluted Hercules by name it could have been disaster. If anyone had seen Hercules enter a house that was supposed to be vacant, it could still mean disaster. He just didn't think. And berating him for it would only start an argument, so Pythagoras held his tongue and made an effort to tamp down his aggravation.

"What was it like on the street? What was the feeling?" the mathematician asked.

Hercules sniffed. "Colchean soldiers are everywhere. I believe an announcement was made this morning that Pasiphae has taken the throne but I didn't really engage in conversation with anyone, I mostly kept my head down."

A gloomy pall fell over the group.

"How is Jason?" Pythagoras asked, changing the subject.

"He's fine. He's sleeping." Hercules lifted an eyebrow. "I heard you had a rough night."

"Hm." Pythagoras didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to relive it.

"Is he alright?" There was concern in Hercules' eyes, worry in his jaw, whatever Ariadne had told him had dampened his gloating confidence, made him not quite so cavalier about Jason's injury and wellbeing.

"For now," Pythagoras offered vaguely. Things could change. He didn't want to give his friends hearty assurances that Jason would be fine when injury could be fluid, especially a grave injury, complications could arise and better to hint at it now than be misleading in his prediction.

Ariadne glanced at him sharply, narrowed her eyes but didn't press him on the matter.

Talk of Jason made the mathematician want to see him. He pushed away from the table and Hercules said quickly, "Where are you going? There are things we need to talk about."

"I know," Pythagoras returned. "I'll check on Jason and be back."

The bedroom was bright with light, the shutters at the window didn't close neatly, and Pythagoras wondered how it was possible for anyone to sleep with such high sun in the room. He considered for a moment if he could rig up a shade across the window to cut down the light, but then he figured they weren't going to be staying long so it was probably not worth the effort.

Jason was frowning in sleep. Pale and drawn, his right arm was slung across his body, the hand resting on top of the wound and when he shifted slightly he emitted a soft moan and the hand gripped momentarily, formed a tight fist, then slowly relaxed. The Oracle's pain relieving tincture had worn off, Pythagoras deduced, and every small movement was lancing through that shoulder. It probably didn't even need movement, the shoulder was probably complaining even when still.

Sleep was the best thing for Jason. A week of sleep was what he needed, a prolonged period for his body to recover but it was doubtful he would get it. It was doubtful he would get a full day. The thought made Pythagoras ache for his friend, and the suffering he seemed destined to endure.

Pythagoras rubbed his hands up and down his trouser to warm his fingers, gently shifted Jason's hand away from the injury, then gingerly pulled at the bandage and cloth covering the wound, ducking his head close to his friend's shoulder so that he could examine the damage. He had deliberately avoided tampering with the dressing during the night to give the Oracle's herbs time to become embedded and effective, but if the wound was going to fester there would be evidence of it already and he wanted to know.

"Will I live?" Jason asked, and it startled Pythagoras, he had been so intent on his task that the voice scared the life out of him, made him suck in a breath as his shoulders jumped to his ears. Jason blinked long and slow trying to chase away sleep but there was humor in the question, not truly worried for his life. "How's it look?"

"Like you were run through with a dagger," the blond man answered, returning the light heartedness. "It's healing. It will take time. How do you feel?"

Jason brought up a hand to scrub at his eyes. "Like I've been run through with a dagger." He sighed. "It's… not pleasant."

Pythagoras flicked his eyebrows at the understatement. "I'm sure. I might be able to do something for you, I'll see what is left in the Oracle's pouch."

"Is there any way you could heal me instantly?" Jason asked, hope sparkling in his green eyes. "Medea was able to do that."

"Medea is a witch," Pythagoras pointed out. "I am not. I am unfamiliar with magic and the dark arts."

"Atalanta could do it too," the injured man persisted, and the mathematician frowned, not sure what was to be gained by naming all the people more skilled than him.

"Atalanta was…" Pythagoras considered for a moment. He hadn't thought about the woman in a long time, it was years since they had crossed paths with her. "I don't really know what she was, very in tune with the earth I suppose. I'm sorry Jason, I just don't have those skills. I could mix a potion to dull the pain. Or I could make a tonic to give you some energy. I can keep infection away. But that's about the best I can do. The healing will have to come from within."

Jason nodded glumly, keenly disappointed, which Pythagoras couldn't help but take as a criticism. And he couldn't blame his friend for the discontent, in different company he could fare much better.

"Is there a plan for getting Ariadne out of the city?"

"Not yet," Pythagoras dismissed, not wanting to pursue the topic, it didn't feel like something the injured man should concern himself with. "The wound looks fine, I might dress it again later."

As Pythagoras rose he rested a gentle encouraging hand against Jason's shoulder and noticed the injured man furrow his brow, bite his lip, troubled by something.

"What is it?" Pythagoras asked.

Jason regarded him uncertainly, then quietly admitted, "I don't think I can get out of this bed. I don't think I could save myself at the moment." He tried to hide his dismay with a weak smile, but his jaw twitched in misery and his eyes were avoiding, like he was ashamed, which stirred something inside Pythagoras because there was nothing shameful about being grievously injured saving the queen's life.

"It is to be expected," Pythagoras returned. "You were gravely injured. It will leave you weak for a while. Don't worry yourself."

"I won't be much help in getting us out of the city." And he winced with a pain more mental than physical.

"Just sleep for now, it is the fastest way to heal. Let us figure out the next move. We _will_ get the queen out of the city, I promise you."

Jason opened his mouth to reply but his gaze flicked over Pythagoras' shoulder as Ariadne swept into the room. She moved deliberately to the far side of the bed, so that she could sit beside Jason on his uninjured side and as she drew near his eyes went wide with amusement. "What is that outfit?"

"It is the height of fashion," she returned with mock seriousness. "And you must tell me I look lovely in it."

"You always look lovely." Jason chuckled. "But that outfit makes you look like you lost a hundred pounds and couldn't afford new clothes."

Ariadne tinkled a girlish laugh. "So it is the perfect disguise then."

Pythagoras smiled to himself, the interaction between the couple was so warm and easy, such a delight to behold, but he always felt like an intruder when they spoke so familiarly and he beat a hasty retreat. Hercules still sat at the table, finishing off the bread and cheese.

"Save some for Jason," Pythagoras warned.

"There is more," Hercules grumbled.

The blond sunk onto a bench seat, dropped his head into his hands and stared at his large friend despondently. "He can barely move. What are we going to do?"

"We are going to come up with a plan that allows for it," Hercules said evenly.

Pythagoras regarded him with surprise; he hadn't expected such reasonableness out of that mouth, such calm sense. It was most welcome. "Do you have any ideas?"

And they began earnestly discussing possibilities. Very quickly they established that they needed a plan involving a horse or a cart to bear Jason. They narrowed down the idea to something being taken out of the city, a cargo that they could bury Ariadne under. Something that wouldn't be suspicious, that the soldiers at the gate would readily wave through, and wouldn't reveal the queen if it was searched. And there they got stuck. Not for lack of ideas, they proposed dozens of potential cargos they might carry, but for every suggestion the stumbling block was the cart being searched. With the queen still at large the soldiers at the gate were going to be very careful in searching everything and everyone leaving the city. The most promising suggestion was to load the cart with dead people, laying Ariadne at the bottom, which was horribly macabre and not an idea either of them really wanted to propose to the queen.

Ariadne returned to the table, smiling lightly. "Jason seems better."

Pythagoras hummed noncommittally, considering it mostly bravado, Jason trying not to reveal to his betrothed how badly he was hurting. Although, if she was comparing him to last night then he was definitely improved, coherent for a start.

"Is he still awake?" Hercules asked, hand poised above the last piece of cheese.

"No. He is…" Her face darkened as she shook her head mildly but didn't finish the thought. "No."

Whatever she was about to say, Pythagoras was pretty sure he shared the concern. _He is very weak. He is very tired_. It reminded him that he had offered to mix some remedies for his friend and he rose from the table, retrieved the oracle's pouch in the kitchen and tipped out what was left in the bag.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him. He snapped his gaze to Hercules and felt breathless with excitement. "I think I know how we can get out of the city."

"I'm listening," the big man returned.

"Jason can be what we're taking out. We'll tell the guards at the gate he's been ordered out of the city for being infectious. He looks like death, they can't help but believe it. And it happens all the time, people are always getting ordered out of the city for fear of an epidemic."

"Not all the time," Ariadne said, like it was a personal criticism. "Often times they are quarantined."

"Yes, yes." Pythagoras flapped his hand. "I have no qualms about the policy. You could wipe out a whole city with a disease. Someone being cast out for illness is not unusual, that's the point."

Hercules squinted thoughtfully, considering the idea and after a few moments pursed his lips dubiously. "Jason looks ill but he doesn't look infectious. He doesn't have any lesions or anything. What would we say he has?"

"It would be easy enough to blister his skin by rubbing an irritant over it and just call it a pox," Pythagoras returned animatedly.

"No," Ariadne interjected, horrified by the suggestion. "He's suffering enough, it would be cruel to subject him to more."

"Your majesty, it is the perfect escape," the mathematician pressed, with a real urge to convince her of the plan so sure was he that it would work. "It requires little of Jason, the irritation would only bother him for a few hours, and if we cover you with blankets and cushions and lay you behind him no one would dare get close enough to search the cart."

"It won't be perfect if Medea or Pasiphae is at the gate," Hercules pointed out. "They know Jason's face. Medea knows all our faces."

"No plan would work with Medea or Pasiphae at the gate," Pythagoras returned with curt impatience, irritated by Hercules negativity when he had earlier chided Pythagoras for the very thing. "But really, what are the chances. And in the unlikely event that they are at the gate, we would simply wait for them to leave."

Hercules and Ariadne glanced at each other, sharing dismay and skepticism in a look, but there was also an underlying desperation. They had to get out of the city. It was only a matter of time before Pasiphae found them. And here was a plan. A plan that might possibly work.

Pythagoras could see the resistance in his companions crumbling and felt a pang of guilt because Jason was not going to like it, but for the sake of the queen he would probably go along with it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_This is a terrible plan._

It was so clear to Pythagoras now. In that first flush of hope and inspiration it had seemed easy -just walk through the gate - smuggle the queen right past the guards.

What was he thinking?

There were so many ways it could wrong he could hardly breathe. And it was too late for second thoughts, they were on the street, the plan was in action.

Pythagoras straightened his back and rolled his shoulders against the uncomfortable weight of the Colchean armor. He never wore armor. Even when the city was under siege he hadn't worn armor. He wouldn't have worn it now but Hercules had insisted it would facilitate their escape. A _Colchean soldier_ driving them out of the city would be an even more compelling reason to let them through the gate and since the armor wouldn't fit Hercules, it had fallen to Pythagoras to play the part. The theory was good but Pythagoras was uncertain about the execution, he wasn't sure Colcheans were created as scrawny as him.

The leather was so heavy. He wondered how anyone could fight in it. It must take years of practice. Add to it a sword at his hip, a shield in his left hand and a ridiculously impractical helmet and he was struggling to walk normally, the weight in all the wrong places made him uncoordinated.

_Scowl at everyone_, Hercules had counseled. _Scowl like you're on the edge of madness and nobody will trouble you._ His posture was a disaster so he was putting all his effort into the scowling. He was the angriest looking soldier in the city. And it seemed to work. Nobody dared approach him, not even one of the many enemy soldiers they passed who must have been wondering why they had never seen his face before, why he was accompanying a cart through the streets. He figured his surly expression must make it appear that he had purpose. And honestly, scowling was no difficulty because he was so damned uncomfortable.

He received more then one murderous glare from the citizens. There was no love for Colcheans in Atlantis after they had laid siege to the city months ago, forced their way inside, slaughtered all in their path, engaged in wonton destruction before being repelled by the Atlantean army in a very close battle. It was something else to be concerned about that he hadn't anticipated, the city felt finely balanced between peace and riot, it would not take much provocation for the people to rise up against the invading army and he could imagine himself on the wrong side of it dressed as the enemy.

Figures ran through his head. With every new possibility for complicating their escape that occurred to him Pythagoras would revise the calculation for their chances of success and the numbers were getting low. The numbers were telling him they needed to turn around and think of another plan. But he refused to give in to the doubts. Trying _something_ was better than trying _nothing. _ If it were left to him he would probably procrastinate and second-guess until he didn't do anything. That's why Hercules was a good foil for him, why they were a good foil for each other, Hercules would give a plan too little thought, Pythagoras would give a plan too much thought, between the two of them they often found a balanced path.

It was an amazing feat that Hercules had been able to procure a cart and horse in little more than an hour. He was ever resourceful. The four wheeled wagon was of the kind a traveling merchant might use, a little the worse for wear, the wood starting to splinter in the tray, splitting at some of the joins but more than adequate for their need. When Pythagoras asked him how he had come by it, the big man had smiled enigmatically and replied, _I know people_, and Pythagoras didn't really need more than that. Even though he held a small concern that Hercules might have obtained the items in a way that could end with them in a cell, in the circumstances, given that the queen was with them, he expected all would be forgiven in the long run.

Hercules led the horse by the reins, the streets too narrow for him to drive the cart through and Pythagoras walked a few steps behind with his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. It was well into the afternoon, shadows were long in the street and the timing felt a bit off, he wondered if it would tell against them. To his mind, if someone was getting ejected from the city it would be done early in the morning, not that he had any experience in the matter. But none of them had wanted to spend another night in the city and the plan had been put into motion with a slightly reckless haste and no regard for timing.

Jason was slouched in the back of the cart, completely concealed by an oversized cloak. Hercules had warned him not to favor his shoulder, in case it was known by the enemy that he had suffered an injury and he had a grip on the edge of the cart that could break a finger. Every so often his hand would unwittingly press against his chest, trying to alleviate the ache, until he would realize what he was doing and jerk it away guiltily, return the grip stubbornly to the wooded support.

Pythagoras had wanted to give him a potion to dull the pain but Hercules had argued emphatically against it given how strangely the oracle's tincture had affected him. _He needs to be in control of his senses,_ Hercules had asserted and Pythagoras couldn't disagree, but he could have offered Jason something less potent than the oracles mixture, fairly confident it would have had no odd effect and Hercules wouldn't hear of it, with surprising support from the queen. Pythagoras couldn't help thinking it was all very well for them to deny Jason relief when they weren't the ones who would have to bear the discomfort. Jason had been glassy eyed and sweating by the time he had slumped into the back of wagon, the effort of moving from inside to out had nearly overwhelmed him. If the injury was _not pleasant_ while Jason was lying in a bed, it had to be a hundred times worse being shaken around in a cart and it took all of Pythagoras' willpower not to shoot his friend sympathetic looks.

The cart was laden with a variety of household items, to make it look like Jason was being evicted with all his worldly possessions. The more that filled the cart, the less noticeable was the small bulge that was Ariadne, buried beneath it all. Poor Darrick had been looted. Pots and pans, bedding and cushions, mugs and plates were jammed into the space around the dark haired man and at a cursory glance the queen was impossible to detect. As a matter of practicality it was going to be useful having all those items with them in the forest, they were actually fleeing with some luxury, albeit not their own.

Jason's sword was inconspicuously within his reach, hidden under a blanket and that was a frightening thought. Pythagoras had no doubt that if things went badly at the gate Jason would use it, his instinct to protect the queen was much keener than the instinct to protect himself. If Jason jumped out of the cart and started slashing at guards it couldn't end well for him, it just couldn't, and it was another reason that Pythagoras' heart was stuck near his throat. There was so much at stake, so much that could go wrong and Pythagoras prayed to every God he could think of that their exit from the city would be smooth and uneventful.

When the gate came into sight a calm settled over Pythagoras. It was a point of no return and the inevitability of following through with the plan gave him focus and inner strength. He had to play his part, for the sake of the queen.

"Make way," he shouted with feigned impatience and people in front obligingly scattered.

There was a small crowd of citizens at the gate, attempting to leave the city and half a dozen soldiers harassing them, yelling at them, trying to turn them around and send them back into the city. It didn't look like any had made it out the gate.

"Let us through," Pythagoras hollered and all who were crowded around the gate, citizens and soldiers, turned eyes to them.

Hercules kept a steady pace with his gaze cast down and most of the crowd begrudgingly moved aside. One of the soldiers, presumably the most senior of them, moved in front of the horse and cart, drew his sword and held it out like a barrier to stop the procession.

"What do we have here?" he asked with clipped suspicion.

"Disease," Pythagoras returned curtly, surprised by how much authority flowed out of him just by being in the uniform. "They have been ordered out of the city."

The soldier walked around the side of the cart and using the tip of his sword, drew back the hood of the cloak that covered Jason's head. His eyes raked over the face, blistered and haggard and he was easily convinced of the illness. Pythagoras could see the endeavor in Jason not to appear defiant, not to gaze upon the soldier with murder in his eyes, his lips were pressed together in a tight line, his focus determinedly lowered and away. The guard shifted his attention to the items strewn around Jason.

"Search the cart," he cursorily directed the nearest soldier.

"I wouldn't," Pythagoras said quickly, pretending nonchalance. "Touch anything and you will become infected. He has a highly contagious pox."

The guard glared at Pythagoras with irritation. With his sword he poked gingerly at the items in the cart, shifted them weakly with a look of distaste on his face. "Yes alright," he said. "Go through."

It was hard not to celebrate, to keep a blank and disinterested face. Hercules pulled at the horse's reins and got the cart moving. As it rumbled through the gate the mathematician followed purposefully behind until he was stopped by the guard raising his sword before him.

"Where are you going?"

"I've been ordered to escort them to the forest," Pythagoras returned evenly.

"They don't need an escort," the man dismissed. "Back to your post."

"I have orders," Pythagoras insisted.

"I can see them reach the forest from here," the man replied. "Back to your post."

The point was lost. To belabor it further would only raise suspicion. Pythagoras shared a look with Jason and shook his head ever so slightly to prevent his friend from doing something impulsive. There was mutiny in Jason's expression, in his narrowed eyes and taut jaw and for a breathless moment Pythagoras thought he was going to do something, take action, he could see the possibilities flick across his friend's face but then Jason's shoulders sagged, the tension drained from him and he averted his eyes unhappily.

Relief flooded Pythagoras. The whole point of the exercise had been to get the queen out of the city and it had been achieved. He turned on his heel and strode stiffly back into the streets, satisfied at the thought of Pasiphae spending days in a fruitless search of Atlantis, unaware that Ariadne had escaped.

If he was careful, kept his head down and avoided his own house he should be safe. He considered how and where he might spend the afternoon, already with the intention of joining his friends later, perhaps bypassing the gate and finding a way directly over the wall. When all he had to consider was himself, the opportunities for escape were much broader.

First, though, he wanted to rid himself of the guise.

* * *

Jason's breathing was stuttered and ragged. The cart jolted over every obstacle in its path, ruts and rocks, sticks and dips and ordinarily Ariadne wouldn't have noticed, it was the nature of the transport but when every jostle took Jason's breath away she couldn't help but gain an appreciation for how rough a cart was, how lacking in comfort, especially on open ground.

When the cart landed heavily, rattling like it might break apart, Jason cried, "Stop."

Hercules brought the horse to an abrupt halt. "What is it? We're barely among the trees. We can't stop yet."

"I need a minute," Jason gasped and he sounded like he could barely get air into his lungs, his words were hitched and strained.

Ariadne cautiously emerged from under the cover of blankets and pillows, gratefully inhaling the fresh air. She darted her gaze in all directions, peering to see where they were, to make sure her appearance wouldn't endanger them. Trees were all around, they were within the forest but she could understand Hercules concern, the city was still visible in the distance through the breaks in foliage. After a thoughtful moment she cast aside caution to sit up fully, considering the gate far enough away that it was unlikely anyone still had eyes on them or the clarity to see her suddenly appear.

Her attention shifted to Jason. The heel of his hand was jammed against his shoulder and he was curled so far over that his head almost touched his knees. She couldn't see his face, the hood of the cloak obscured it but his posture told her clearly enough that he was in agony.

She gave Hercules a cursory glance, sharing his look of thin-lipped concern and fumbled around the cart for a water-skin. There was an awkward silence among them, an uncomfortable feeling of not really knowing what to do, what might help Jason. Her hand alighted on the soft bladder of water and she lay it in her lap so that she could use both hands to gently push back the material covering his head, expose his face that was ruined with welts. His complexion was the color of milk, so pale that she wondered if he might be physically ill or about to pass out.

"Drink some water," she softly suggested and he nodded wordlessly, pulled his shoulders higher and took the skin that she offered. When he had swallowed a few gulps he lay the skin beside him and pressed a hand against his eyes, held it there for a moment, then dragged the hand down his face and huffed a mirthless laugh. Ariadne stroked fingers tenderly through his hair and he leaned into it with a long blink and an appreciative sigh.

"For better or for worse," he murmured and flicked her a rueful smile. Ariadne tilted her head quizzically, not sure what he meant and he shook his curls lightly. "I guess you don't have that in your marriage vows, that you take your partner for better or for worse. We're not even married yet and you've already fulfilled the promise, I don't think you could see me much worse."

Her eyes were soft and slightly reproachful. "Do your vows say anything about protecting love with your life?"

Jason hummed. "Not directly."

"Then perhaps we should add it in especially for you."

She wanted to kiss him, she wanted him to know that even at his lowest point she adored him but she wasn't sure he could cope with it so she settled for pressing her hand against his cheek, hoping he could feel the love in her fingertips.

Hercules ambled to the side of the cart and rested his elbows against the wooden sideboard. He gazed toward the city then at his companions. "What are we going to do about Pythagoras?" Jason met his eyes, solemn and worried, and Ariadne could see the depth of affection the men shared for their friend in their matching expression. "We have to go back and get him," the big man stated, like it was the only solution.

"Pythagoras will be fine," Ariadne objected, careful in her tone because she didn't want either man to mistake her for being unfeeling or uncaring. "He is the smartest of us all. He will find his way out of the city, just give him time."

Hercules curled his lip dubiously and muttered to Jason, "She doesn't know him very well."

"Hmm," the injured man returned neutrally.

The queen clicked her tongue. "You do your friend a disservice. I have every confidence that he will join us when he can." The men averted their eyes in uncomfortable disagreement and Ariadne expelled an agitated breath. "What would you suggest? That you re-enter the vipers nest and try to find your way out again? That would be madness."

After a pause Jason shot a glance at Hercules and said, "That does kind of sound like madness. We only just got out of there."

"We can't abandon him," Hercules said, quietly serious.

"Perhaps we should give him some time, as Ariadne suggests." Jason lowered his gaze and added dejectedly, "Hercules, I can't. I can't go with you right now. I want to. But I would be of no use."

"I wasn't asking it of you," Hercules replied immediately, stricken at the thought. "And Pythagoras would kill me if you did."

"Please." Ariadne reached out a hand and rested it on the big man's forearm. "Please give Pythagoras time to get out of the city on his own. If he has not joined us by the break of dawn then by all means, go back and get him. None of us want to abandon him. But we need you with us."

She tried not to look at Jason as she said it; she hoped Hercules would get her meaning without being direct. Jason couldn't protect her. She didn't doubt his courage or endeavor but if someone were to attack when they were two, he would be sorely pressed to repel them. And she in turn couldn't protect him. She didn't have the strength or skill to wield a sword. If they could fashion a bow and arrow she could become adversarial but until then she had little to offer in defense.

Hercules understood, his dark eyes shone with it. He peered toward the city and rubbed a hand regretfully across his face.

"Perhaps we could find somewhere to make camp," Ariadne pressed, "deal with one problem at a time. We will need to venture further into the forest to avoid detection but we won't want to bury ourselves too deeply in order for Pythagoras to find us." She knitted her brow. "It is actually going to be a difficult balance. I don't know how we might ensure that we are found by Pythagoras and not anyone else."

"Leave that to me," Hercules returned confidently.

Ariadne appraised Jason and found his color improved, less distress in his bearing and in his face. "May we continue?"

"Yes," he returned quickly, guilt flashing across his features. Hercules pushed away from the cart, taking the cue to return to the front, resume his position beside the horse.

"Perhaps you should lie down," the queen suggested, a crease in her forehead, feeling out of her depth in tending to Jason. "We can find space."

"It won't help," he predicted with grim certainty, although he glossed it with a wan smile.

"Then do it to humor me," she returned and purposefully wadded the bedding into a soft nest, challenging him with raised brows to lie down, which he begrudgingly did, slow and careful in his movements. His legs made a triangle, without room to lay them flat and he cradled his left arm across his body as he gazed up at the sky, very quickly looking distant and a little unfocused.

"It will be dark in a few hours," Jason murmured.

"Yes," she agreed, and when he didn't say more she wondered why he had mentioned it, if he was worried about Pythagoras or if something else was on his mind.

Ariadne twisted her head to Hercules and gave him a nod that they were ready to proceed and he pulled at the reins to start the horse moving. Jason shut his eyes tight against the first jolting movements and Ariadne placed her hand over his, wishing she could offer him more in the way of comfort.

* * *

**A/N:** Last episode(s) of Atlantis this weekend! Oh boy am I going to miss it.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi All. Boy did this chapter give me trouble! The second half I rewrote four times. Four times! And I suspect that I should have rewritten it a fifth time. Wah wah, I know, you're not interested, lol. I'm just saying, if this chapter sucks, I don't want to hear about it.

Special shout out to pica britanica for making me think a little harder about Pythagoras' fate. I was just going to have him appear ta-da in the forest but she suggested that maybe he could have his own adventure trying to get out of the city.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"You! Here!"

As soon as Pythagoras lifted his head he knew it was a mistake, that he should have ignored the call and continued walking. His plan was simple, return to Darrick's house, divest himself of the enemy armor, spend quiet hours waiting for darkness, then slip over the city wall to join his friends. A soldier looking expectantly at him with hard eyes and a tight jaw was an unwelcome complication.

There was a split second where Pythagoras considered his options. Keep moving or go over to the bidding soldier? It occurred to him that insubordination would probably end unpleasantly so with heavy legs he walked over to the man.

"I have orders elsewhere," Pythagoras muttered, keeping his eyes down, terribly afraid the man would recognize him as an imposter because it felt so obvious, it was clear the armor fit him ill.

"Your orders can wait. I need you searching house to house for a traitor."

The blond man ducked his head even further so the soldier wouldn't see the horror in his face. His mind whirled trying to think of a convincing reason to excuse himself, some way to extricate himself from the situation and continue on his path.

The soldier continued, "Find a man named Miras. He is suspected of harboring the former queen."

A frown flashed across Pythagoras' features. He knew for a certainty that the man wasn't harboring Ariadne and he wondered how such a suspicion might arise, who Miras might be.

"I already have men on the left side of the street," the soldier said. "You start on the right."

Pythagoras was appalled at the idea, for a couple of reasons. Rousting people out of their houses and leading them away to be tortured promised him no pleasure. And spending time in the vicinity of Colcheans was sure to reveal him as a fraud. If any of the enemy spent more than a minute in his company they would recognize that he wasn't one of them. But though his mind flurried, searching for a reasonable way to absent himself, nothing presented to him, his mind stuttered on _I have to get away_ and could think of no compelling method for _how_, how to disobey the order he had been given without raising suspicion.

With little option, Pythagoras nodded his head tautly, and walked to the right hand side of the street. He consoled himself with the thought that when no-one was looking he would slip away quickly and resume his journey to Darrick's house. His stomach fluttered, nervous at being in such close proximity to the enemy. There was noise and acrimony all around as half a dozen soldiers participated in the task of flushing out the quarry, with rancour and hostility in their manner. Donning the Colchean armor had been an unexpectedly bad idea, he had never anticipated being coopted into service.

An anxious faced young woman answered his knock, her eyes wide with fright at the sight of a soldier at her door.

"I am sorry to bother you," Pythagoras began and then shook himself because as a Colchean soldier there should be no courtesy. "Do you know a man named Miras?"

"Yes," she replied cautiously, gaze darting nervously and Pythagoras thought, _why would you answer yes to that? Why would you put yourself in danger by admitting to anything?_ "He is my neighbor."

"Where?" Pythagoras clipped.

"Two doors down." Her eyes slipped in the direction of Miras' house.

"Thank you," the mathematician said and cursed himself again for the courtesy, if any of the surrounding soldiers heard they would instantly become suspicious of him.

With a furtive glance over his shoulder, judging where other guards were in relation to him and whether he was under any scrutiny, he decided that the timing wasn't right for him to abandon the task and he absently strode two doors down, putting himself outside the house of the purported traitor. As he went to knock on the door, it occurred to him that an opportunity was being presented. Whoever Miras was, Pythagoras knew him to be innocent of any wrongdoing, and he was the only person who might possibly save him from brutal treatment at the hands of Pasiphae's men. Indeed, he may have a responsibility to this man. He couldn't in good conscience allow him to be arrested for a crime he hadn't commited. And now, rather than thinking of safety for just himself, he was thinking he needed to find safety for both of them. But at the same time he recognized that saving people was not his forte, he was more brain than brawn and maybe the best he could do was give this person a warning and hope he could save himself.

When a man opened the door Pythagoras found his young, careworn face immediately familiar. Miras was one of the Atlantean soldiers who had deserted when the city was under siege, the unofficial leader of them. He and his friends had come across the man in the forest with a host of other deserters, ashamed by their act but in despair of success against the attacking Colcheans. Miras had redeemed himself by returning to the city, and had been instrumental in the defeat of the assailing army, and Pythagoras hadn't set eyes on him since.

With a sharp intake of breath Pythagoras rammed his shoulder into the man's chest and sent him sprawling backwards. It was the quickest and most effective way Pythagoras could think of to get him out of sight, back inside the house without argument or delay. Obviously the man had no idea that he was wanted or he wouldn't have answered the door so readily. He stepped over the threshold with a quick look over his shoulder and hastily closed the door behind.

Before Pythagoras could offer any explanation Miras was upon him. Strong hands pressed him backward against the door with a force that winded Pythagoras, made him skip a few breaths and drop the shield in his left hand.

"I'm here to help," the blond man gasped.

"Sure you are," Miras returned and planted a fist into Pythagoras' armoured stomach that had him choking, starving for oxygen. The punch had to hurt Miras as much as it hurt Pythagoras, the protective leather was stiff, thick opposition, but the man appeared unaffected as Pythagoras collapsed to his knees clutching his midriff.

_He is much more experienced at this_ Pythagoras thought with dismay. As a former soldier he was much better at physical confrontation than the weedy mathematician.

"Jason," Pythagoras breathed, barely audible, hoping to prompt recognition as he gulped in air. "Jason."

Knuckles to the cheek sent him sprawling to the floor. The blow glanced off the helmet and was probably the reason he wasn't knocked unconscious but it rattled his jaw and made him forget his own name for a moment.

"The Palladium," Pythagoras cried desperately. "We had the Palladium."

Miras sent a swift hard kick into his side, making the slight man cry out and roll away, trying to get beyond reach, his whole body alight with pain. There was a sword at his side and he considered reaching for it but didn't want to inflame the situation further, didn't want the encounter to end with one of them dead.

"Stop it!" Pythagoras shouted, his hands submissively raised. "I wish to help."

Miras bounced on the balls of his feet, menacingly close to Pythagoras, ready to smack him at the slightest provocation but stayed by having the upper hand. "How might you help?"

"You know me," Pythagoras said plaintively. "We met in the forest, Jason was returning the Palladium to Atlantis and you had deserted." Probably not a smart thing to bring up but he didn't know how else to give the meeting context.

The man drew his brows together and stopped bouncing, twitching his head in mild recognition. "Take your helmet off," he demanded.

"Only if you promise not to hit me," Pythagoras returned and that made the man frown more deeply, the comment not at all what might be expected from a Colchean, their ferocity and toughness were well known. The mathematician gingerly removed the heavy helmet, releasing his fluffy blond curls. He moved his jaw side to side trying to return everything to its proper place, feeling the tightness of swelling in his left cheek. "My name is Pythagoras. I am a friend to Jason and Hercules. You have met me. We fought side by side when Pasiphae laid siege to the city."

"You are Colchean," the man spat, caution in his eyes.

"No, I am dressed as Colchean. And wish that I were not." Pythagoras could feel the tension in the man dispersing and he in turn relaxed a little, relieved that apparently the beating was over. "I had to dress this way in order to get my friends out of the city. And it might be lucky for you that I did, you have been branded a traitor and soldiers are seeking to arrest you."

Miras took an uncertain step backward. "Why? What have I done?"

"You are accused of harboring Queen Ariadne."

The man blinked in surprise. "I have done no such thing."

Pythagoras didn't want to reveal that he knew the truth of it, that he knew Miras played no part, discretion dictated that the man should know as little as possible. "Whether you did or not, you may expect no fair treatment from the invaders."

There was a sharp knock on the door. "Open up," came a yell.

_Too soon_, Pythagoras thought. There hadn't been time to properly explain himself, to discuss a possible plan for escape.

"Is there another way out?" Pythagoras asked breathlessly.

"There is only an enclosed courtyard to the rear."

"Hide," Pythagoras urged. "And I will tell the soldiers you went over the wall." Miras regarded him distrustfully. He had the defiant look of a man who would rather fight than cower. "They will torture and kill you," Pythagoras promised, not sure if it were true but trying to force the point. The man showed him narrow lipped displeasure but hastened to a nearby room.

"I'm coming," Pythagoras called. He felt every bruise as he gained his feet and slipped the helmet onto his head, picked up the shield. He wrenched open the door to a pair of burly soldiers and leaned heavily against the frame. "He went out the back," Pythagoras gasped, trying to appear as if had been well beaten, which was no difficulty. His heart pounded, acutely aware that he was playing a dangerous game. "You will catch him in the next street."

The soldiers nodded and with cries of _this way_ gathered the other guards in the vicinity and led them away at a trot. Pythagoras followed half heartedly, dragging his feet, allowing himself to fall behind and when the men had disappeared around the corner, he perked up and hastened back to Miras' house, closing the door behind him.

"They are gone," Pythagoras quietly called, and the man emerged quickly from his hiding spot. He stared at Pythagoras, like he expected him to have a plan for what comes next, and the mathematician didn't have the heart to admit that he had no idea what he was doing.

"Get me some clothes," Pythagoras demanded, "I have to get out of this uniform. But I will not do it here, the soldiers will return shortly and we should escape with haste."

He had no street clothes to change into, what he had been wearing at Darrick's house was in the cart that had been taken out of the city and it solved one of his problems if Miras could supply some.

Wordlessly the man complied, ducked into the next room and swiftly returned with garments hanging from his clutched fist. Pythagoras cautiously opened the front door and peered outside, shoulders sagging in relief when he saw no enemy soldiers in sight. But he knew they would be close.

"I will go out first and you follow some paces behind," the blond man directed. "Do not speak to me but keep me always in view, I know of a safe place we can go."

And with those sparse directions, Pythagoras drew himself up, pushed his shoulders back and exited the house with a bearing that he hoped befitted his disguise. Darrick's abode was not far, but now he walked with a fearful clutch in his chest, worried about being engaged by the enemy once again.

* * *

"Is it me?" Ariadne asked, dropping gracefully beside Hercules on the leaf strewn ground, the oversized tunic enveloping her legs as she drew them to her chest. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, it's him," the big man reassured. "It is his way."

The queen looked worn and strained, her face was lined and tired. Both sets of eyes travelled across the fire, to where Jason was propped against an oversized tree trunk, legs flat along the ground, right hand lightly gripping the left arm at the elbow, eyes staring fixedly at the flames. The darkness of the cloak almost made him blend into the background, but the hood was down exposing his head.

"He is not well and I don't know what to do for him." Ariadne knitted her brow. "I can't help thinking that I should know him better. That I should know what he needs."

Hercules gave a short laugh. "I have spent most days of the last few years with Jason and I still don't know him, or what he needs. I don't think he knows himself, that's half the trouble." _And how could he_, a voice inside said. _How could Jason know himself when he doesn't even know the blood that runs through his veins? _He brushed it aside and finished in a slightly jesting tone, "Think of him as a gift to be unwrapped over many years."

Ariadne smiled and it made her instantly youthful. "He is a gift," she said shyly. "One that I am not sure that I deserve. I was hard with his heart for a long time."

"He understood why," Hercules dismissed. _And he refused to accept it. _Their lives might be much different if Jason had understood his place in society, accepted convention and tradition and given up any hope for a future with Queen Ariadne. He didn't begrudge his friend love, but love with royalty was proving hazardous for all of them.

"And now he is hurt because of me and I wish I knew how to fix it." The woman worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I wish there was something I could say or do to make him smile, but I don't think he wants me near him."

"I don't think he wants anyone near him, don't take it personally."

It was the most difficult of Jason's traits to navigate, his instinct to become insular and isolated when he was upset or tired, and currently he was both. Rather than verbalize what troubled him he would become withdrawn and uncommunicative, stubbornly, frustratingly mute and aloof. Understanding it didn't make it easier to deal with, or less offensive, Hercules always found it infuriating. It was akin to getting a shove in the chest when you tried to talk to him.

"Why don't you sleep?" Hercules suggested. "And I will keep him company."

Ariadne nodded reluctantly, then studied the large man. "Will you be here when I awake?" Hercules regarded her in surprise. "I know you're thinking of Pythagoras. I know you're worried about him."

"I'm always worried about Pythagoras," Hercules muttered. The woman lifted a heavy brow, seeking an answer to her question and he averted his gaze guiltily. "I can make no promises about being here when you awake."

The queen flattened her lips reproachfully. "If you leave he will follow," she stated and her eyes skipped to Jason. Hercules gave the slightest of nods because he suspected it was true.

Since leaving the city a war had waged in Hercules head about where he should be. He had two friends in trouble and trying to choose whose need was greater was an impossible task. If only Jason was a little less damaged… If only Pythagoras was a little more robust… It went round and round in his head the different actions he might take, all the complications and unpredictability, and the possibility of an outcome worse than their current situation. There was no easy solution to his dilemma. And he stumbled at the first hurdle anyway, trying to decide which friend needed him more.

Ariadne rested a comforting hand on his back momentarily, then gained her feet and moved toward a pile of blankets and pillows that had been removed from the cart, collected what she needed and fashioned herself a makeshift bed. Hercules wondered idly if he was supposed to do that. It was unclear what the royal protocols were in the forest and if technically he was now part of her staff. Ariadne didn't seem to expect service from him but then she was an undemanding kind of ruler. He hoped he wasn't unintentionally causing offense.

Where usually they might have camped in a gully to make themselves less noticeable, Hercules had chosen a spot that was deliberately flat, so that Pythagoras had a better chance of finding them and Jason wouldn't be tested by uneven ground as he moved around. Not that he was moving around. Ariadne positioned herself carefully, placed the pillow so that she could watch Jason without the fire interrupting her view. She lay herself down and did just that, settled her head on her forearm and stared thoughtfully at her betrothed, but her eyes closed after only a few minutes, weariness claiming her swiftly.

Hercules rose with a creak of knees and strolled around the fire to sit beside Jason, stretched his legs out in front and stared up at the night sky. Jason made no acknowledgment, gave no hint that he was aware of Hercules presence, his eyes didn't leave the fire and the big man wondered how long they could sit together in that way, how long Jason could ignore him. _Probably all night_.

After many quiet minutes Hercules said evenly, "You need to stop acting like an idiot toward the woman who loves you."

Green eyes drifted sideways, not looking at him but aware, listening.

"You're scaring her. And making her question herself. And then I have to deal with it, which is very awkward because she is my queen."

Jason's eyes flicked across the fire, to where Ariadne was spread along the ground and a crease appeared between his eyes.

"I can endure the silence," Hercules continued. "It is a relief to me not to hear your grating voice." He glanced sidelong to see if that provoked any reaction, but Jason was still as stone. "Ariadne however, seems to find pleasure in your conversation. And when you withhold it from her, to _her_, that is a punishment. Not to me, just to be clear, you with your trap shut is a reward as far as I'm concerned but to _Ariadne_, it is a punishment. You might just want to bear that in mind."

It felt a bit presumptuous to be giving relationship advice when Hercules had screwed up his own affair of the heart so badly that the woman he loved was living cursed in a cave. But things seemed clearer, more obvious, on the outside looking in. And if he wasn't honest with Jason then who would be?

Jason shifted his gaze away from Ariadne uncomfortably, looking perturbed. It wasn't what Hercules had intended. He wasn't trying to make his friend feel bad, feel worse, but he seemed blind to the way his moods affected the people around him.

After a long moment Jason drew in a breath and said, "I sometimes wonder what kind of husband I will make. I don't think I will be very good at it."

Hercules regarded him fondly. "You are going to be terrible at it. And she is going to love you anyway."

Jason's mouth twisted bitterly, his eyes unexpectedly glistened and, _Gods_, that was not at all what Hercules had intended, he had spoken in jest.

"Hey, no, I'm kidding," Hercules said quickly, his heart lurching in sympathy with whatever doubts and insecurities his friend was harboring. As Jason turned his head away Hercules floundered for something to say - _You'll be a great husband. You're a wonderful man_ \- it all sounded trite and insincere so he decided to leave it alone lest he make things worse, and instead patted Jason's knee and said, "You're exhausted. I think it's time to give in and get some sleep."

Jason huffed, waved vaguely at his shoulder and shook his head helplessly, and suddenly Hercules understood the reason he wasn't asleep already, it wasn't stoicism or willfulness, he just couldn't find sleep, the injury wouldn't allow him the peace. The big man cursed inwardly and regretted his lack of sensitivity. Jason suffered so quietly, drew so little attention to his discomfort that it was easy to underestimate.

They needed Pythagoras. Only he could offer Jason relief, he had a remedy for everything, a vast knowledge of herbs and their practical use. In hindsight, Hercules should have suggested to Pythagoras that he make a pain-relieving potion before they left the city, stash it in the cart and when they were outside the gate, Jason could have drunk it. It hadn't occurred to him. Nor had it occurred to him that Pythagoras might not make it through the gate.

"Would it help if I sang to you?" Hercules offered straight faced.

A pained expression flitted across Jason's face.

"Would it help if I punched you in the jaw?"

That got a small grudging smile.

"Actually, I may be able to help you find sleep," Hercules said thoughtfully.

"Just leave me," Jason said dully. "It's a lost cause. It'll come eventually."

"No, really," Hercules insisted and considered how he might phrase what he was about to suggest because as soon as he said the word _massage_ Jason would automatically say no, if he mentioned that Jason would need to change position that would also invoke a no. But the more he thought about it the more convinced he became that he might be able to counter the ache inside his friend, distract his body by focussing attention elsewhere with massage and manipulation. Years as a wrestler had given him a proficiency at it, there was an art to pressure points and friction and granted, he had used it for the purpose of relieving strained, overworked muscles not to send someone to sleep but a side effect had always been relaxation. That might be all Jason needed to nudge him into rest, relax his body and the mind might follow. "I want to try something and I want you to trust me. Do you trust me?"

Jason squinted at him suspiciously. "You know that I do."

"Good, remember that, because it might hurt a little."

Hercules ignored the alarm in Jason's expression and looked around for what he might need. He gathered together a blanket and a couple of pillows that he had deposited near Jason earlier, spread the blanket across the ground and dropped the pillows on top so that they would be close to hand. He crouched in front of Jason and said, "Remember to trust," then took a handful of the cloak at the chest and pulled his friend slowly, carefully away from the trunk that had supported him for the last few hours. Jason hissed a breath, his face contorted at the movement and small grunts transmitted his objection and displeasure.

"I hate this already," the young man growled.

"Just give it a chance," Hercules griped.

When Jason's upper body was weight forward Hercules realized that he would need to lift his friend in order to get his legs under and behind him. He hadn't really anticipated that. He was going to have to exert some pressure to get Jason face down on the ground and he had a sudden flash that it might be a terrible idea, he might pull at frayed, fragile skin that had only just begun to heal. He paused undecidedly for a beat, betwixt and between, wondering if he should just ask Jason to lie down rather than force it. But the likelihood of Jason agreeing was pretty dim, and he was convinced that his magic fingers could be of benefit so he resolved to keep going, pressed his second hand into Jason's sternum and pushed his body up and over his legs, a maneuver that made the dark haired man cry out sharply and shoot him a murderous glare.

When Jason was finally on the ground, a pillow under his head and another under his chest Hercules released a deep, relieved breath.

Jason muttered, "Trust me he says. It might hurt a little. I am going to stab you in your sleep." Even panting through the discomfort, he managed to inject some venom into the words, not entirely joking.

Hercules flicked his brows up and down and figured he probably deserved it.

"Get ready to fall in love with me," he soothed, stretching his fingers theatrically, and started kneading Jason's neck.

This was something he used to be very good at, sought out for. A few times he had used his manipulation skills on Jason, after he had fought in the arena, coaxed his battered body into wellness with strong, probing fingers. If he was a little out of practice the tentativeness subsided quickly as his large fingers remembered their rhythm, how to be hard without being rough, dancing at a languid pace upon his friends neck and uninjured shoulder.

The angry noises at the back of Jason's throat gradually subsided. Hercules fingers shifted down his back, only working the right hand side of his body, not wanting to get near tenderness and damage. It probably would have been more effective if Jason wasn't wearing the cloak, the material slid around and bunched together annoyingly under Hercules fingers but the massage was having the desired effect, the big man could feel coiled muscles loosening, Jason breathing more deeply.

"Are we friends again?" Hercules asked, gauging to see if the injured man was still awake. There was a grunted response that might have been yes or no and Hercules continued, pressing against the taut frame with an even repetitiveness that even he found hypnotic

When Hercules fingers started to cramp he leaned back onto his heels and shook his hand, made and unmade a fist a few times and waited for a reaction from Jason. When none was forthcoming he leaned over and peered closely at his friend. His face was relaxed and peaceful, his breathing deep and even, as far as Hercules could tell he was asleep. Although how long he might stay that way was anyone's guess. He ran a hand fondly across the unruly dark hair and shook his head at how attached to the boy he was, and how no-one could exasperate him more.

The fire was starting to burn low and Hercules pushed himself to his feet and shuffled over to a stack of twigs and branches he had collected earlier, chose a few of the bigger examples and tossed them into the blaze. He felt restless and divided. With his companions asleep there was an opportunity to sneak away and return to the city and he wasn't sure if that was what he wanted to do. If he was captured by Pasiphae's men and imprisoned it would make things so much worse. But there was an itch to find Pythagoras that wouldn't leave him be, a desperation to know that his friend was alright.

_Come on Pythagoras_ he silently urged. _Don't make me come and get you_.


	7. Chapter 7

A long time between chapters, I know. I actually wrote chapter 8 before I wrote chapter 7. There was no sense to it. But it means I will have the next chapter to post in a few days.

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**Chapter 7**

Pythagoras was concerted in his effort not to make eye contact with anyone as he walked through the city. He kept his eyes cast down with only the briefest of glimpses to the way ahead and never looked behind to see if Miras followed.

The only diversion on his journey occurred when he passed a vendor cart and spied a large curl of sturdy rope displayed within. It caused him to stop abruptly, stare thoughtfully, thinking of escape from the city and how useful a rope might be. With sudden decisiveness Pythagoras asked the vendor, "May I take this rope?" And the man looked him up and down in the guise of an enemy soldier wanting to tell him to get lost but hesitant, considering of what might follow, what trouble it may lead to, and had instead obliged, pressed the item into his hands with grudging benevolence and assurances that he was a friend to Queen Pasiphae, that he welcomed her rule. It made Pythagoras uncomfortable that he was trading on the fear his uniform inspired, and that the man would gain no benefit from his generosity. But he still took the rope. He didn't allow his conscience to sabotage possible escape.

The closer he got to his destination the more anxious Pythagoras became. He couldn't help thinking that it would be just his luck to fail at the last minute. When Darrick's house was in sight he figured that's when he would be waylaid, his plans foiled. _You need to work on your optimism_ he could hear Hercules say. It was near dusk and the streets were not full but bustling, people trying to finish their tasks before night fell and they all felt like a threat, somehow or other, just by sheer number everyone on the street felt like a threat.

His chest was so tight he could barely breathe as he stumbled through the door to Darrick's abode. He closed it quickly behind him and immediately removed the metal helmet, so heavy and unnatural on his head. He didn't feel safe. In this space where he had felt quite secure with his friends only an hour before he now felt anxious and vulnerable, relieved to be off the street but expecting soldiers to burst in and arrest him at any moment. And there were so many reasons that he might be arrested, he had committed innumerable offenses in the past twenty four hours, and indeed was committing one right now by being falsely dressed in enemy armor.

He shuffled to the table, flung the heavy rope onto the wooden surface, slumped onto a seat and pressed fingers into the corner of his eyes trying to compose himself, trying to convince himself that all was well. Being solo didn't agree with him. He missed the loud belligerence of Hercules and the quiet assuredness of Jason. He missed the feeling of someone watching out for him, someone to care and take action if he should fall into the hands of Pasiphae's men.

The door opened and closed behind him and Pythagoras whipped his head around with an intake of breath, expecting company but surprised by it as well.

Miras stood just inside the entrance wide eyed. "Are we alone," he asked, his gaze darting around.

"Yes," Pythagoras returned. "There is no one else here." He sounded so calm. His heart hammered inside but his voice was steady.

The man exhaled. "There are so many soldiers on the street, I thought for sure I would be detained."

Pythagoras nodded and shared the sentiment. Miras moved to the table and sunk down onto a chair, ran a hand over his head and murmured, "How do I find myself here?"

The blond man regarded him with interest. "Yes. How do you find yourself here?"

Miras blinked at him and had to think about the answer. "Stupidity I believe. Careless words. I'm not entirely sure, but I may have been a little too vocal in my opposition of our new queen at the tavern last night." He twisted his mouth in wry self-disgust. "Other than that I cannot imagine why I would be arrested, I have done nothing."

_That would do it_, Pythagoras thought. Only a foolish man would indulge in loose talk about Pasiphae, one a little too taken with his drink. Word could spread fast even when you thought you were among friends.

"Although what lead to a charge of harboring Queen Ariadne I couldn't say. I made no such boast."

"I suspect the charge was incidental," Pythagoras offered. "You were probably identified as a possible threat to peace and a suitable charge was devised for your arrest."

Miras inclined his head, then gave the blond man a serious, level look. "Thank you. For intervening, and saving me from," he tipped his brows up, "who knows what. Something unpleasant." He tightened his jaw and looked fierce in the remnants of daylight, his features were chiselled in such a way that he always looked somewhat fierce. "Good men died to keep that woman out of the city. It is not right that she should take control."

"No," Pythagoras agreed. "It is not."

They descended into silence and without the distraction of conversation Pythagoras' thoughts went immediately to his friends, wondering if they had reached the forest, how Jason fared, if they were waiting for him or if they were taking the queen to safety. There was no plan for if they got separated. It unsettled him that he didn't really know how to rejoin the group.

"So- how have you been?" Pythagoras said with forced cheer, deciding that if they were going to spend time together it might as well be companionable. His fingers pulled at the ties at the side of the chest armor.

"Fine," Miras returned, looking bemused that they were to have a catch up conversation, placing the clothes that he had brought from his house onto the table before Pythagoras.

"You didn't get married or anything since we last saw you?"

Miras chuffed. "No. There is a girl but - you know."

_Not really_ Pythagoras thought. Some unnecessary complication no doubt, he'd seen enough of those between Hercules and Medusa, Jason and Ariadne.

"Are you still a soldier?"

A flush of colour swept across Miras' cheeks, he ducked his head. "No. I was discharged after the Colchean siege."

"I see." Pythagoras studied his armor lacings closely, feeling a little awkward, reading between the lines that Miras had been discharged due to his desertion. He was probably lucky to avoid imprisonment. Rejoining the fight at the last minute probably saved him from that.

The man's eyes raked Pythagoras form. "You said you put on the enemy outfit to get friends out of the city. Is that Jason?"

"Yes. Hercules and Jason. The outfit got _them_ out but not me."

"Are they in trouble?"

"Always," Pythagoras returned with a small fond smile, and with the lacings loosened, lifted the chest armor over his head, placing it on the table beside him.

Pythagoras was cautious and considered about what he said and deliberately made no mention of the queen. He had a latent mistrust of his companion that wasn't personal it just seemed sensible. Pythagoras was thinking _if he gets captured, what might he reveal?_ He wanted it to be as little as possible.

The man's eyes drifted to the rope. "I take it you have a plan to escape?"

"A very simple one. We climb over the wall."

Miras tipped his head. "Simple in theory. Not sure how simple it will be with soldiers covering the streets."

Pythagoras bobbed his head, acknowledging the truth of it. As he had discovered earlier, it was easy enough to make a plan, much more difficult to follow it through. "I make no demands on you. As far as I am concerned you are safely delivered and may do as you wish, stay in the city, escape with me or make your own escape, whatever you think best."

His companion said nothing and Pythagoras pushed himself up from the table. "I am going to remove the rest of this hideous outfit and get a few hours sleep. Should I wake you when I leave?"

Miras flicked eyes to him. "Yes."

Pythagoras felt a small thrill that he would have a companion for his escape but kept his expression neutral. He grabbed the change of clothes from the table and made his way to the bedroom that Jason had been laying in so recently. With the bedding stripped the space seemed unfamiliar. He removed the remainder of the armor and pushed it under the bed with his toes, a perplexing surprise for Darrick to find when he returned from visiting his daughter, and shrugged on the borrowed clothes, feeling much better in a shapeless tunic and nondescript trousers, pleased at the way it made him anonymous and more like himself.

Pythagoras was afraid of oversleeping and as a result found it difficult to sleep at all. A fear kept running through his head of waking up to daylight and the opportunity to escape being passed. He managed to snatch a few hours of slumber in a repetitive rhythm of falling asleep and startling awake to check that it was still dark. The ill fitting shutters that had been brutal during the day were actually a comfort at night because they revealed the progress of the night easily, he could roughly gauge the passage of time by the shine of the moon.

When, by his calculations, one day had tipped into the next, he rose from the bed and crept into the living area. He coiled the rope around his forearm and looked uncertainly at the second bedroom, awkward about waking a man he barely knew. He hesitated for a few minutes, hoping Miras would magically appear in the doorway and when he didn't, strode to the bedroom and was relieved to find the man perched on the edge of the bed, looking out the window at the night sky.

"It's time," Pythagoras said, and Miras nodded without turning.

The mathematician moved back to the main space and peered around in the dark trying to decide if there was anything else he should take with him. He had a sword at his hip, the only part of the Colchean uniform he was keeping, and as far as he could see, they had already relieved Darrick of his most useful items, there was nothing his eyes alighted on that he thought he must take. Which was good. His load was light.

Miras hovered beside him full of nervous energy. There was a sword at his hip too, which Pythagoras hadn't noticed earlier, too caught up in his own worries, but he was glad of it. Pythagoras wasn't a great swordsman, a thrust and hope type, but Miras would have skills being a former soldier, he would be an asset in a fight. And fingers crossed it wouldn't come to that.

"You sure you want to do this?" Pythagoras asked.

"My options are limited," Miras returned which made Pythagoras frown because it sounded like Miras would have preferred another option.

They slunk out of the house, all eyes and caution, and made their way to the wall a few streets over. They stuck to the shadows and Pythagoras felt quite adept at concealment, having been through the same process the previous night when they had escaped the palace.

The amount of soldiers on the street was much reduced, they encountered none on their journey to the wall, although they could hear them in the distance. Armor made their footsteps heavy and the swords clattered dully at their sides.

Pythagoras threw the rope up and around a post buried into the top of the wall, made a slip-knot and pulled on the rope until the knot was secure. He glanced at Miras because they hadn't discussed how they would do this, who would go first but he was thinking it made sense for him to go first as Miras would be more capable at handling guards should they be discovered, and he hoped he wouldn't sound selfish or self-centered if he suggested it.

"I'll climb over first, then you follow," Pythagoras whispered, and Miras nodded tautly without a hint of disagreement.

It was more arduous than he had anticipated, using a rope to climb up the side of a wall. Before he was even halfway the muscles in his upper arms were shaking with the effort, struggling to bear his weight, and his palms were sweaty and slippery. It was so slow. Suspended in the air, even in the darkness, he felt helplessly conspicuous, obvious to anyone who might walk past, and it lasted for ages. For every minute of it he expected a guard to saunter by and notice him. He spared a thought for Miras, waiting below, and wondered if it felt like an age to him as well, if he was silently cursing him for being unathletic.

When he finally made it to the top of the wall his hands were so sore and cramped he couldn't get a grip on the crest, and had to pull himself the final few inches with wrists and forearms. He rolled onto the flat surface, the wall at this part a couple of feet thick, and took a moment to catch his breath. When he heard the clink of metal, a nearby sword rattling in the sheath, he was filled with despair. He couldn't help but be obvious in the moonlight, a human blob misshaping the evenness of the wall. If he stayed very still he hoped not to draw attention. He held his breath.

"You there!"

Pythagoras darted his eyes in the direction of the call and through the gloom saw two soldiers, one of them pointing a sword at him. He regarded them with dismay, then thought, it could have been worse. If they had spotted him while he was making his way up the side of the wall he would have been in a difficult position but at the top of the wall he was beyond range of their swords and neither of them had arrows. _What are they going to do?_ His question was answered when one of the guards grabbed hold of the rope, pulled it a few times to test its strength and started to climb.

_Oh_.

And now he was stuck, because he needed to pull the rope up and over in order to climb down the other side of the wall. As he was considering how to meet the threat, the prospect of fighting atop a wall not at all appealing, cutting the rope not an option, Miras hurled himself out of a shadow and cut down the soldier on the ground who was completely oblivious, watching his companion climb. The guard on the rope dropped quickly to the earth and unsheathed his sword with practiced skill.

"Go," Miras shouted, waving his sword vaguely in the direction of Pythagoras. And Pythagoras winced because the noise was going to draw more soldiers. He thought for a flash about what he might do to help, he didn't want to leave Miras in a fight, but the only thing that came to him was to throw his sword, hope to hit the guard, and it was ridiculous, the chances of success were minimal, and he quickly discarded the idea. With a heavy heart he pulled the rope swiftly through his fingers and when he saw the end, dumped the lot over the other side of the wall and started sliding down. He could hear the clash of steel, grunts of effort as he began his descent and felt enormously guilty that he was the one that had drawn the attention of the soldiers and he was the one making the getaway, Miras was left to deal with it, fight for his life.

When his feet touched the rocky ground Pythagoras gathered a good weight of rope into his hand and threw it as hard and high as he could to get it back over the wall. It didn't drop back down on his head so he figured it was accomplished. And then he waited. There was no sound from the city now, the thick wall muffled whatever was happening inside.

After a few minutes it occurred to him that guards might race to his position. If Miras was slaughtered and the alarm raised about his escape, guards would converge on the outside, trying to find him. He strode a reasonable length away and found a rocky outcrop that he could crouch behind, still close enough that he could see in the dim if a form appeared at the top of the wall.

Long minutes dragged by and Pythagoras was imagining Miras dead, or wounded which was somehow worse. The thought that the man might be lying in the alley just the other side of the wall bleeding from some awful injury, without comfort or help, troubled him deeply. It was so _quiet_. He had no gauge on what might be going on inside. The guards could be preparing horses right now to ride out of the city to find him and he just didn't _know_.

There was no hesitation about waiting for Miras. Not until he knew one way or the other what had happened to the man would he continue his journey. Either Miras was going to come over the wall or soldiers were going to come out of the gate, and he would have his answer. If it was soldiers he hoped darkness would keep him hidden and allow him to make an unobtrusive escape.

When he spied a figure at the top of the wall, indistinct but he knew what he was looking for, Pythagoras felt a little breathless, like the wind has been knocked out of him. He really thought it would be soldiers coming through the gate. _You need to work on your optimism. _ He raced to the bottom of the wall and got to Miras just as he dropped to the ground. He couldn't help himself, he embraced the man even though their relationship wasn't near that level of personal invasion, so relieved that he was alive and apparently unhurt.

Miras was stiff in the hug, not sure what to do with it. "Um, thanks."

_Not a hugger,_ Pythagoras surmised and quickly released him. "I feared for you," he said earnestly. "I thought you were taken."

"Nah," Miras scoffed. "Those men were hopeless. Not even a scratch."

Pythagoras had the urge to embrace him again, for being unshakeable and modest, but stifled it. "We should make our way to the forest."

Miras nodded and Pythagoras was pleased that he didn't raise an objection to staying together. It was comforting having someone with him even if it wasn't either of the people he would have preferred.

There were still a few hours left in the night. Pythagoras wasn't worried about being spotted as they crossed the plain to the forest, but he was worried about soldiers leaving the city to find them. The sooner they reached the cover of woods the better.


	8. Chapter 8

This is a Jason chapter so, you know, some self pity and brooding.

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**Chapter 8**

Awareness came suddenly to Jason. He shifted in his sleep and there was a flare of pain in his shoulder so bright that for a few seconds he couldn't breath. It was like being knifed all over again. It was a disorienting way to wake up. Still half in a dream he wasn't sure what was happening, where he was.

His eyes opened to darkness and his brain was slow to engage. Struggling to catch his breath he worked to get his bearings, but his line of sight was annoyingly narrow, lying on his stomach, and it was that as much as anything that moved his thoughts into alignment. Hercules had laid him in this position. They were sheltering in the forest. And night was still upon them.

The pillows underneath him had shifted and he felt the unevenness of the ground at his ribs. He had no idea if he had been asleep for a few minutes or a few hours, he wasn't good at reading the night. The fire still burned but it was low, mostly glowing embers, although emitting enough light that he could see Ariadne around it, looking peaceful in sleep and beautifully hardy, lying on the ground like it gave her no trouble. It made him smile and swelled his heart. She was so lacking in pretension, graceful in any setting, he loved her for so many reasons.

He debated with himself whether to do the easy thing and lie still, or do the hard thing and sit up. It wasn't really a tough decision, he wasn't entirely comfortable and he didn't like how narrow his aspect was.

He flattened his right hand against the earth and pushed against it, raising himself slowly to get his knees underneath him and carefully twisted until he was sitting cross-legged. An angry growl rolled from his throat as he clutched his left arm tight at the bicep and pushed it hard against his chest trying to stop movement under the surface, twitching and misfiring that bloody hurt, that took long moments of absolute stillness to calm.

Twenty-four hours of recuperation had done little for him, he still felt frustratingly unwell, lightheaded and weak and there was a burn in his shoulder that just wouldn't quit. He probably needed to sling his left arm, it was only vaguely responsive and when it flopped around at the whim of gravity it pulled against the wound in a way that made his eyes water. But already he knew that he wouldn't, restraining his arm would mess with his balance and in a fight would be like a _hit me here_ sign.

He tried not to think about a fight. If soldiers were to appear in the camp right now he would be a disaster, fumbling around and moving at half speed, Ariadne would have to save herself. The thought really bothered him. He pressed fingers into his eyes and tried to quell niggling feelings of inadequacy, that he was a liability at the moment. _It's only been a day_ he consoled himself. _Only a day since a dagger sliced through you_. Things would improve, strength would return. He knew it to be true, he knew that his incompetence was only temporary, but still it couldn't quite balm the sting of being dead weight.

He dropped the hand from his face and surveyed the area. A cursory glance around the campsite revealed no sign of Hercules, not even discarded bedding, and a voice inside said _he waited for you to fall asleep then returned to the city for Pythagoras. _And he found the thought annoying but not angering. Jason could understand Hercules need to find Pythagoras. Positions reversed he probably would have done the same. There was something about Pythagoras that brought out protectiveness, maybe it was the slight figure, or the gentle nature.

As much as Jason loved his mathematical friend he sometimes regretted landing on his balcony and inviting violence and danger upon him. Pythagoras was a sensitive soul, ill suited to peril, but he endured it willingly for the sake of his friends, he was fiercely loyal and deeply caring. Whenever Jason dwelled on it, it broke his heart a little, that his friend was living so far wide of his comfort zone. He deserved a life more suited to his personality, staid and safe. He deserved to be geeking out over triangles and equations, and sometimes Jason could almost see it, Pythagoras hunched over a scroll shouting Eureka (no wait, that was the guy in the bath, Archimedes), jubilant over a discovery that would immortalise him. It had to be coming. History required it. But when? With all the turmoil in their lives, when would Pythagoras get the chance to concentrate on what he loved?

Jason sighed into the night. The fire was on the verge of burning out and he pushed himself to his feet, groaning inwardly at his unsteadiness. His left side was a lot heavier than his right and he had to physically adjust his shoulders to it, press his hand against his left collarbone to shift it back, then make an effort not to let it slip down into a hunch. When his posture seemed right he went over to the nearby pile of twigs and bent at the knees, keeping his upper body rigid and straight, to grab as much wood as his right hand would hold, moved to the fire and dropped the twigs with barely a crouch, which scattered them wider than was efficient but good enough as far as he was concerned.

Now that he was up and moving he wanted to stay that way for a while, mostly to prove to himself that he could. He walked over to Ariadne and gazed at her fondly, tilting his head, wanting to stroke her hair or kiss her forehead but not wanting to bend to do it. Just looking at her gave him some calm, some resolve. She was so beautiful. He could lose himself in that face, memorizing and appreciating every inch. _His_ _fiancée_. It still seemed strange. He wondered if he would ever get used to thinking of Ariadne that way, as the woman he would marry rather than just the woman he loved. He couldn't quite get his head around it, the permanence and commitment.

After a minute he shifted away, in the direction of Atlantis, the city pulling at him even from afar. He searched for a break in the foliage that would allow him to view the buildings, his home, moving gradually further from the camp to find a vantage point and found instead the unmistakable figure of Hercules outlined by the moonlight, staring thoughtfully into the distance with his arms folded across his chest.

"You're still here," Jason said as he drew near, and felt dizzy with the relief. _Thank God._

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" Hercules answered.

"Well… yes."

Hercules grunted. "I've been standing here for hours trying to decide whether I should go back to Atlantis and find Pythagoras. I still don't know what to do."

Jason hummed his understanding.

"Do you think he's alright?"

"Yes, I do," Jason returned immediately, genuinely. Of the three of them, Pythagoras was the most considered about risk and safety. He wouldn't be reckless with it.

Hercules expelled a breath. "He shouldn't be on his own," he muttered. "You are better on your own than he is. And you're not that great."

Jason smiled lightly and could have pointed out that he had been on his own a long time before he met his friends, but left it unsaid. "He's fine," he reassured and felt in his heart that it was true.

Hercules dipped his head and it looked like silent agreement but the furrow in his brow betrayed his continuing worry. He drew in a breath and deliberately shifted his focus to Jason, "So, walking around huh? Fun for you?"

"Loads," Jason returned drily.

Hercules raised a hand to pat him on the shoulder, then thought better of it and let the arm fall. "Only you could recover so quickly from an injury that would have killed most men."

Jason wrinkled his face and considered Hercules had a generous view of recovered.

Whether he could read Jason's expression or took his cue from the lack of agreement, Hercules amended, "Yes, I know, you are hardly healed. But I am not in fear of your life, which is a relief because without Pythagoras here…" Hercules turned his face back to the city, eyes going soft at the name. "It's nice not to have that worry."

Different responses ticked through Jason's mind, from the honest (_you seem to underestimate how terrible I'm feeling_), to the dishonest (_I am feeling so much better_) to the sarcastic (_take more than a knife a few inches above the heart to stop me_), none of which came easily to his tongue. They weren't really talking about him anyway it was Pythagoras that hung heavily between them so he let the subject drop.

Atlantis was a dark looming mound dotted by torchlight in the distance. Jason gazed at it and felt the wash of awe that still hit him sometimes when he considered that he was viewing _Atlantis_. It was such a beautiful place, unique in so many ways, the modern world had no idea what it was missing.

"The city looks peaceful," he said. "You can't even tell from here that it's been invaded."

"It's not on fire, if that's what you mean."

Yes, Jason realized, that was what he meant. The last time Pasiphae had tried to wrest control of the city flames had danced doggedly through the nights and smoke had hung heavily in the air for days. It had looked like a city at war. Now it looked traitorously like a city at peace.

"It probably suits us that the city is calm, with Pythagoras still in there," Hercules pointed out.

Jason nodded his agreement but still felt a sting of disappointment that the citizens had so readily accepted the overthrow of their queen.

"We had best get back to Ariadne," Hercules said, and extended his arm in invitation to lean on. Jason paused for a beat, his instinct to decline and be self sufficient, but he overrode the hesitation because really, who was he trying to impress? Not Hercules, who had seen him rough more times than he cared to think about. He inched closer to his friend, stretched his arm across Hercules neck and wilted against the ample shoulder, while Hercules slung his arm around his back, low so that his hand was resting at his waist, nowhere near the wound. Jason exhaled lightly. Being supported was starting to feel depressingly comfortable and familiar. He rested his head against Hercules shoulder for just a moment to collect himself, gather some strength.

"You okay?" Hercules asked.

"Hmm," Jason answered because- yes and no. Probably as okay as he could be having recently had a dagger skewer him. It was strange the way a wound to his chest affected his whole body, made his legs feel weak, made his head ache, drained him of energy.

They carefully made their way back to camp, Hercules considerate in his pace and quiet, without his usual conversation. Jason wasn't sure if it was because he was tired or still thinking of Pythagoras.

From a distance they could see someone standing by the campfire. Jason squinted for recognition; it was hard to tell if it was Ariadne silhouetted by the low flames when she was wearing the oversized tunic, it hid her distinctive figure.

As they drew closer Hercules muttered, "Who is that?"

"I can't tell," Jason returned tightly.

Hercules unwound his arm from around Jason's back, looked at him questioningly and Jason urged, "Yes, go."

The big man loped on ahead and it was strange to Jason, being left behind, it was usually he who took the lead, confronted the danger. He watched with his heart in his throat as Hercules barreled into the camp without fear or caution, his only thought to confront the intruder and protect the queen, and wondered if it was how his friends felt when he scouted ahead. It wasn't pleasant, the sensation that he was too far away to help if Hercules needed it.

Hercules stopped before the stranger, tilted his head to the side, and wrapped him in a firm embrace.

_Pythagoras._

Jason dropped his head to his chest and released a whoosh of air. It never felt right when the three of them weren't together and the relief at Pythagoras being safely returned was almost crushing. He shuffled his way to the camp and when he got there felt like he had run a marathon, ridiculously and unaccountably exhausted. Pythagoras's face lit up at the sight of him and it caused Jason's throat to constrict because he had missed his friend, worried about him just as much as Hercules.

Pythagoras wound careful arms around his neck and pulled him gently close. "You look awful," he whispered into Jason's ear, making him breathe a laugh. "You should not be moving around."

Jason could only nod his agreement as he drew away and the shine of unshed tears in the mathematicians eyes was reflected in the heat behind his own but both of them wore a warm smile.

"Come and sit down," Hercules rumbled. "Tell us everything. How did you get out of the city?"

Pythagoras glanced over his shoulder. "I am actually not alone. I escaped with an old friend." He glanced backward again and nodded his head and from the concealment of shrubbery a figure emerged and walked toward them.

"Miras?" Jason quietly exclaimed. He took quick steps toward the man, his lips curved up, held out his right hand to shake and drew the man close when he took it, but couldn't use his other arm to clap him on the back as he would have liked. "What…?"

Miras lips twitched self-consciously. "I know. Last person you expected to see."

Jason shook his head in bewilderment as they moved toward Hercules and Pythagoras. Hercules shook the man's hand with less enthusiasm, a suspicious look in his eye.

"Miras and I crossed paths in the city," Pythagoras supplied.

"Apparently I am a wanted man. Pythagoras saved me from being tossed into a cell." Miras was humorless in his explanation.

Jason jiggered his head and blinked long. "How? What did you do?"

"Only what anyone would have done," Pythagoras returned blandly, but averted his eyes and looked guilty, like maybe he had done something his friends were going to be unhappy about.

"Which was what?" Hercules asked pointedly.

"Miras was in trouble so I helped him."

Jason cocked an eyebrow at the vague response and got the feeling they should change the subject. Pythagoras was pretty well attuned to Hercules' moods and if he thought his adventure in the city was a subject to be avoided then Jason couldn't help but agree, especially when Hercules was unslept and possibly not in a reasonable frame of mind.

From the corner of his eye he noticed Ariadne stir and quietly sit up, awoken by the sound of voices. It was the perfect way to divert attention.

Pythagoras leaned closer to Jason, tipped his head toward the queen and said, "I have not told Miras yet."

Miras regarded the men uncertainly, not sure where the conversation had turned.

With a light smile, Jason swept his hand in the direction of Ariadne and said, "Miras, may I present her royal highness, Queen Ariadne."

The man turned around and his mouth dropped open as he blinked at the woman, almost unrecognizable in a man's attire, her long hair tousled and untidy but her beautiful face unmistakable. He swung his head sharply toward Jason and exhaled, "You…" Then he remembered himself, dropped to one knee, fisted a hand over his heart and bowed his head. "Your majesty. It is my honor."

Ariadne rose, carded hands through her long hair, gave it a twist to keep it out of her face, and looked more at Jason than Miras, a small smile on her lips that he couldn't help but return. She took the few steps to join the group. "Please rise," she said with formality. Her eyes alighted on Pythagoras and she threw her arms around him, formality quickly dropped. "You made it," she cried in delight. "I thought that you would. You should have heard these two, all doom and gloom, they had no faith." As she drew back, her forehead creased and she touched a finger lightly to his cheek. "What happened? Did you meet with trouble?"

"What?" Hercules said under his breath, studying his friend with sudden interest, noticing the swollen cheek for the first time. Pythagoras turned his head away.

"I'm afraid that was me," Miras offered innocently.

Hercules went still. "What do you mean? Did you hit him?"

"He didn't know who I was," Pythagoras said quickly.

_Oh boy,_ Jason thought. Pythagoras just as good as admitted that Miras had hit him. He wished his brainy friend was better at dissembling. After all the worry, the helpless fretting Hercules had done, to find out that Pythagoras had met with rough treatment in his absence was going to cut deep. And to have the perpetrator within reach meant he wouldn't have an opportunity to calmly consider his response.

Hercules eyes flattened, became diamond hard, his strong muscled arm shot out and grabbed hold of the shirt at Miras' chest, taking him by surprise.

"It was an accident," Pythagoras soothed, placing a restraining hand against the burly chest. "Miras thought I was the enemy. I was dressed as Colchean."

Jason caught hold of Ariadne's hand, entwined their fingers and pulled her to him, stepping them a few paces back because he could see what might occur, could see the stony threat in Hercules face, that the atmosphere had shifted.

Miras' expression was blank, aware of his misstep but unapologetic, unflinching. And that was not going to help.

The big man's flint eyes didn't shift, unmoved by Pythagoras' explanation. "Did you hit this gentle, skinny man?"

Jason had no idea how to calm Hercules, what he might say or do to defuse the situation, he wasn't really a calming influence, he was more of the call to arms-we need to do something dangerous influence, so he left it to Pythagoras to handle.

"He thought I was _Colchean_," Pythagoras protested, exasperated and a little desperate. "He thought I was about to arrest him."

"I did," Miras reluctantly admitted and Hercules swept Pythagoras out of the way and smacked his fist into the man's jaw. Miras staggered back a few steps, clapped a hand to his chin.

"Hercules!" Pythagoras yelled and moved in front of his friend, placing two hands on his chest.

Hercules made no move to hit Miras again, one punch was all he intended. He pointed at the man and said, "Now we're even,"

"He saved me," Pythagoras exclaimed and clicked his tongue. "As we escaped the city he saved my life. What is wrong with you?"

Miras gritted his teeth, the hand at his side balled into a fist and he took quick dangerous steps toward Hercules. Pythagoras met him with a restraining hand and said evenly, "It's over. Let it be over."

The combatants glared at each other with Pythagoras standing in between. Tension was thick. Both men looked like they would happily trade a few more blows until Hercules turned on his heel and stormed into the darkness. Pythagoras followed, skipping behind to keep pace, talking softly, trying to instill sense and reason.

Jason exhaled a pent up breath, wound his arm around Ariadne's shoulders and pulled her close enough to lay a quick kiss on her forehead. She was trembling, shaken by the unexpected violence and he tightened his embrace, holding her snugly against his chest.

"Hercules is a little overprotective," Jason offered, as if it needed to be said.

"So I see. I hope I never hurt Pythagoras," Ariadne said quietly.

"I hope I never do either," Jason agreed.

"What should we do about Miras?" Her eyes went to the man, who still had a hand clasped to his jaw.

"He'll be fine. There won't be any hard feelings." _I hope_. Jason pulled away from Ariadne, her arms reluctant to release him and he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he moved to the struck man, considering what he might say to to soothe his justified indignation and anger.

"That was unfortunate," Jason said, and made a face at himself for such an inadequate opening.

"I should keep moving," Miras curtly returned.

"No, don't. Not yet anyway. Don't take any notice of Hercules, he can be a..." He was going to say _hothead_ but changed his mind at the last minute because hitting Miras had come from a place of love, from Hercules boundless care and concern for Pythagoras, he didn't want to criticize it. "...fierce friend. Quite a good friend to have actually. He'll cool down. And I am pleased to see you. Despite the circumstances."

Miras flicked a dark glance at him and Jason clarified, "I mean, you know, hiding out in the forest, with the deposed Queen and the city in turmoil."

The man inclined his head, flicked a glance in the direction of Ariadne, who was studying them with her arms crossed a few feet away, then back to Jason. "Yes, it is a shame we couldn't renew our acquaintance in better circumstances. It appears Pasiphae will allow us no peace."

"So it would appear." Tension crept into Jason's stance, just the mention of Pasiphae prodded his anger. "She won't be long in Atlantis if we have anything to say about it. We intend to take back the city, and we could certainly use a good man like you, if you felt minded to join us."

Miras's gaze darted uncertainly in the direction that Hercules had taken.

"There won't be any further trouble," Jason assured, and knew it to be true. Hercules wasn't the sort to hold a grudge. Not for long, anyway.

A wave of heat abruptly swept through Jason, his vision wavered and it was a physical reminder that his health was scratchy. He really needed to sit down, all the moving around had wrung him out, but he didn't want to appear weak and warred with himself about doing it.

"I don't know." Miras tipped his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I have a brother in Thrace and I was considering..."

The rest of Miras's words were lost to a buzzing in Jason's ears. He cast his eyes to the ground, took controlled breaths to press down whatever was rising and worked to keep his expression neutral while he bargained with himself internally - _five more minutes_. _Keep it together for five more minutes, then you can sit down._

A hand rested against his chest. It startled Jason and he raised his head to discover the meaning. Miras was peering at him closely with a knitted brow. "What's wrong? Are you ill?"

"No." Jason coughed his embarrassment and figured he must have zoned out. "No. Sorry. I, uh, I have a- It's just a- sore shoulder." He flapped at it vaguely and wasn't sure why he was so flustered, why an injury felt like a personal failing.

"I see," Miras returned and flicked his eyes past Jason, like he wasn't sure what to do, looking toward Ariadne for help. He kept his hand flattened against the cloak which Jason found unnecessary and a little invasive.

"Everything alright?" Ariadne asked, coming to stand beside the men and frowning at the hand propping up Jason.

"Jason was just telling me that he has a sore shoulder," Miras supplied and the words were loaded with suspicion.

"Yes," Ariadne returned, her gaze coolly assessing the wounded man. "Quite a serious injury I'm afraid." She turned a sweet smile on Miras. "Would be so kind as to get Pythagoras for me?"

"No, don't," Jason countermanded and gave Ariadne a meaningful glare. Pythagoras would be all worried and full of questions (_What are you feeling? Where does it hurt?_) and he was fine, just a little overextended. All he needed was to sit.

She ignored him, kept her attention on Miras, mouth tightening slightly at the disagreement. Miras bounced his eyes between the two of them and in a competition for authority between him and Ariadne, Jason realised she would always win, she outranked him every time. Miras hesitantly removed his hand from Jason's chest, bowed his head quickly to the queen and headed in the direction Hercules and Pythagoras had ventured.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Ariadne suggested, rounding on him.

"Perhaps I should," he readily agreed, trying to sound flippant and composed but undermined by his knees starting to give.

Ariadne knotted her hand into the front of his cloak, jammed her shoulder under his good arm and eased him to a sit. It was super awkward. Jason choked back his groans, kept the hissed breaths to a minimum and really wished it was Hercules beside him and not Ariadne. In fact, he wished no one was beside him, because he was quite capable of sitting down unaided. Now, with Ariadne helping him like he was an invalid, he was feeling all kinds of feeble and weak, he could hardly look at her. He sat with his knees drawn to his chest and fixed his gaze at the fire.

Ariadne deposited herself in front of him, her back to the flames and stretched out her legs. After an uncomfortable silence she dug her toes into Jason's hip and said, "You are being ridiculous."

"I'm just sitting here," he returned mildly. He still couldn't look at her.

"I know you are hurt. It is not a secret. I was there when it happened, so I _really_ know. You don't even know how much I know." She paused, and puckered her brow at the convolution. Jason glanced sideways at her and found the face adorable. Then thought _wait, what don't I know_? "Could you just let me help you without getting all," she flicked her wrist, "mopey and quiet about it?"

_Mopey and quiet? _As he turned over the accusation in his mind, she shifted onto her hands and knees, edged closer and pressed tentative lips to his. His mouth automatically responded, without thought or consideration, he wasn't sure what he was feeling right now but he always wanted to kiss her.

She drew back with a light smile and a sparkle to her dark eyes. "I am beginning to understand how complicated you are. I haven't seen you unwell before and it has revealed a whole different side to you. I'm pretty sure I was better at recuperation."

Jason parted his lips and was stuck on how to respond. She was giving him a kind scolding and he didn't know whether to be defensive or make light of it. He really wasn't in the right frame of mind to be puzzling over the relationship.

Ariadne changed position, moved behind him and pulled at the back of the cloak, forcing him to recline into her waiting arms. His head rested against her chest, her arms encircled him in an extended embrace. It was pretty nice. Even if he was feeling a bit dominated. But it also made him really tired. He was laying down and his brain was suggesting that perhaps he might like to get some sleep.

"You will never get better if you keep moving around." Soft fingers absently brushed the curls on his forehead to the side.

"I'm not moving now," he returned lightly. His line of sight was weird. Fixed against her body he was staring into the distance and all he could see was darkness or tree trunks. It was uninspiring and didn't help the tired. He let his weighted eyelids fall shut.

The back of her fingers traced a line down his face following the curve from his forehead to his jaw, over and over. It provided a welcome distraction to the ache of his shoulder. "We need to move on," he said and didn't form the words right, they ran lazily together. He got the feeling he was saying it more to himself than Ariadne anyway. _We need to move on, so__ you need to pull yourself together._

"When we are ready," Ariadne replied quietly.

He started drifting. The repetition of her strokes, the softness of her fingers sent him to the edge of wakefulness. He was vaguely aware when Pythagoras knelt beside him and put a hand to his forehead, then his cheek. There was a pull at the neck of the cloak as his friend tried to examine his shoulder and then frustrated noises because there wasn't enough give in the material to allow him to see.

Warm and comfortable in Ariadne's arms, Jason was content to let Pythagoras do as he pleased. So long as he didn't have to move he was good.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

"We should keep moving," Pythagoras stated, an observation rather than a direction.

Hercules clucked his annoyance, upturned a hand and stretched it in the direction of Jason. Firelight illuminated the injured man in the early morning gloom, lying on the ground with Ariadne wrapped around him. Hercules wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to convey by the gesture, something about Jason being unwell, that he should be given time to rest. He was tired and trusted Pythagoras to understand what he meant, their relationship had reached a stage where half gestures and cryptic comments were usually understandable.

"Yes, I know," Pythagoras said, his gaze lingering wistfully on Jason. "It's not ideal. But our exit from the city did not go unnoticed. There will soon be soldiers searching the forest for Miras and me. We need to get ahead of them."

"It's a big forest," Hercules offered blandly, trying to avoid the subject.

"It is," Pythagoras returned evenly, "but I found you quite easily."

The logic and sense was unwelcome. Hercules wanted to rest, he wanted to savor Pythagoras being safely returned, he wanted to enjoy slipping out of Pasiphae's grasp. He wasn't in the mood for thinking about the danger they still faced, and making plans to avoid it. A moment of peace, a moment to take a breath, that was all he wanted.

He ran a hand over his thinning hair and dragged it down his face.

"Okay," he sighed. "Wake them up and I'll start loading the cart."

He flattened a hand against the earth to push to a stand but Pythagoras placed a palm firmly against his knee to halt him, and regarded him with round earnest eyes.

"First, you must apologize to Miras."

Hercules blew a disgusted breath. "No."

His attention drifted to Miras, sitting slightly removed from the group, his back resting against a tree, his body stiff, his lines sharp. Hercules couldn't warm to him. Not just because he had hit Pythagoras, in fact that was probably the least of it now that he had been repaid in kind, it had more to do with the siege, deserting the city in its time of need. He found it hard to forgive. He found it hard to trust such a man. And sure there was more to the story, Miras had returned to the fight in the end, fought bravely and hard, and as far as his friends were concerned he was redeemed. But not to Hercules. Every time he looked at Miras he bristled. The man was stained.

"He saved my life and you hit him," Pythagoras complained.

"He hit _you_," Hercules returned, voice climbing. "He got what he deserved and I won't apologize for it."

"He saved my life," Pythagoras repeated, so solemn and sober that Hercules couldn't doubt it was true. "I would not be sitting next to you if not for him. Your aggression was unwarranted and unnecessary and you _should_ apologize for it. For the sake of harmony, you should apologize."

Hercules always struggled to win an argument against Pythagoras. Cool reason was irritatingly hard to counter. Hercules could bluster and splutter, get louder and louder and Pythagoras would remain unflappably logical. It was infuriating.

"Fine," Hercules gritted, capitulating easily because he could tell by the set of Pythagoras jaw that he was determined to win this battle. Although he considered it a low blow, the _if not for him I would be dead_ argument. Jason flung it around too. It never seemed fair when his friends used his heart against him. "I'm not happy about it, I don't agree with it, but I will apologise to Miras because I know that if I don't you will nag me like an old woman." Pythagoras drew his brows down in offence and Hercules considered it just that the irritation he felt should be shared. "Any other unreasonable requests you would like to make of me?"

Pythagoras widened his eyes like it was an honest question. "Could you make breakfast? I'm starving."

The sound that came from Hercules throat was more animal than human and Pythagoras raised a hand, lips turning up at the corners. "How about I will make some breakfast? While you apologize."

Hercules grunted and nodded and couldn't help smiling at Pythagoras' back as he wandered toward the cart. But his humor quickly disappeared as his eyes flicked to Miras, at the thought of having to express regret to the man. He didn't feel it, and Miras didn't deserve it. Different approaches to the conversation shuffled through his head, searching for a way to comply with Pythagoras' request without subordinating himself, without making it seem like all was forgiven.

"Stop thinking and just do it."

Hercules startled at the voice behind him. He hadn't noticed Pythagoras circle around from the cart and end up at his back. He'd been longer in thought than he realized. Procrastinating.

"Yes, I said I would," Hercules groused. There had been no mention of a time limit, he could see no reason for urgency.

Pythagoras' brows tilted with reproach but he didn't push further. "I'm going to pick some fruit." He vaguely lifted a wooden pail in his hand. "There is very little food in the cart."

Accusation clung mildly to the words but Hercules glossed over it. "It is still dark," he protested.

Pythagoras shrugged. "I can't exactly wait for the sun. I won't venture far. And you will thank me for it when we eat."

It sounded like a bad idea. Hercules rebelled at Pythagoras leaving the safety of the camp, he'd only just found his way back to them, and he fumbled for a way to express it without being overbearing or dictatorial. He decided to sidestep instead. "I thought you were keen to leave?"

"I thought you were about to apologize?" Pythagoras countered.

Hercules pressed his lips together and pushed down his latent anxiety as Pythagoras walked into the darkness. _He's a grown man_, Hercules thought. _He can look after himself_. It was true, Pythagoras had proved it over and over, that he was more capable than his stature belied, but Hercules was without sleep and it made him less rational, slightly paranoid, and a bit fatalistic about the probability of something averse happening.

He couldn't help thinking that this was the new normal for them, fugitives, looking over their shoulder for Pasiphae and her men. In constant danger. Just constant. He wasn't sure how he was going to deal with it. He wondered if he would have to live with chronic apprehension from now on, make it his new baseline, never feel relaxed again.

He pushed himself to his feet before he had visions of all their gory deaths, wiped the dirt from his hands, brushed down his trousers, and wandered over to Miras. Because _this_ was what was important, he thought acerbically, apologizing to a traitor who had hit his closest friend. Their lives seemed skewed, their priorities were strange, nothing made much sense at the moment. He really needed to sleep.

"We should talk," Hercules stated tersely, looming over Miras, unwilling to sit down beside him because it seemed too friendly.

Miras waited a few beats for the big man to sit and when he didn't scrambled to his feet.

Hercules glared at him, his jaw tight, and knew it was going to be a poor apology. He dropped his gaze to try and appear less adversarial. "I may have been a bit hasty in hitting you earlier. I hope there are no hard feelings."

It was even worse than he thought, words coming through gritted teeth. Hercules was glad Pythagoras wasn't within earshot, if he had been there was no way he would have settled for it as an apology. It didn't even include the word sorry (because he wasn't) but it was as good as Hercules was willing to offer.

Miras regarded him with cold eyes. "No hard feelings," he agreed, and sounded as committed to the reconciliation as Hercules. It was an avoidance of further violence, not an expression of friendship and they both recognized it. Miras stuck out his hand and Hercules took it. "For what it's worth, I would not have hit Pythagoras had I known who he was. I bear him no ill feeling."

Hercules hummed and nodded. It didn't really make any difference. He had a better understanding of what had occurred in the city, Pythagoras had explained it to him in some detail but he still considered the punch to Miras had been justified. "The slate is clean as far as I'm concerned."

"I don't intend to stay," Miras offered, like he thought it would appease Hercules. "When daylight comes I will be on my way, I do not wish to impose."

"That's your business," Hercules returned noncommittally. But then he glanced sideways, to where Jason lay, and felt obliged to try and convince Miras to remain with them. Jason would want it. Pythagoras too. He groaned inwardly and in a forced conciliatory tone, for the sake of his friends, said, "You are welcome to stay with us. We would be glad of the company. And it would be safer for you to travel in a group rather than on your own."

Miras was a dour man, humorless. There was nothing soft or grateful in his expression as he shrugged uncertainly at the offer. It rubbed Hercules, offended him that Miras might not wish to remain in their company. Before it became another reason to dislike the man, Hercules raised a hand and said, "I'll leave it up to you. There's no pressure, do as you will," and marched over to the cart, just to get some distance.

The pace at which Pythagoras hurried into the camp, the look on his face, immediately told Hercules that something was wrong. Pythagoras ground to a halt beside him, his eyes darting around like he was trying to think two steps ahead, pail half filled with fruit swinging absently in his hand.

"There are men on the plain," the blond said breathlessly. "They must be soldiers. There are about a dozen and I believe they are on horseback, they are traveling quickly."

Hercules reeled. "How certain are you that they are soldiers?"

It was dark and had to be impossible to make out details, but at the same time he had a sinking suspicion it was true, any group of people on the plain could really only be soldiers.

"I cannot be certain," Pythagoras stated, "but what else could it be? Who else might be traveling across the plain?"

Hercules nodded grimly. "On horseback," he muttered as he peered at the cart in the dim light and knew it was going to be too slow. As well as too big, too loud, it was not made for stealth. And if soldiers overtook it what would be the likely outcome? Could they convince soldiers that their purpose was peaceful and benign? It was entirely possible Pasiphae had ordered her troops to slay anyone found in the forest and they couldn't afford to be hindered by the unwieldy transport, they would have to abandon it. It was a real blow; the cart carried a lot of items that would make their exile more luxurious. And without it Jason would have to travel on foot. Which he probably would have insisted on doing anyway, but it would have been nice to have the fallback of the cart.

"What are you thinking?" Pythagoras prompted, impatience in his tone.

"The cart is going to be slow and obvious." He didn't voice his conclusion, waiting to see how Pythagoras might respond before suggesting they abandon it.

"I fear we must leave it," Pythagoras returned regretfully. "And all of its contents, we shall need to travel light."

Hercules inclined his head as his mind whirled with possible plans, different ways that they might proceed. "Tell Miras what is happening, I will wake Jason and the queen."

The men moved in opposite directions with quick steps. As Hercules approached the young couple he discovered it was only Jason asleep, Ariadne had her head resting on her pillowed arm, her body turned toward Jason, gazing at him thoughtfully. When Hercules drew beside the duo and crouched she sat up immediately.

"What is it?" she asked, anxiety obviously written on his face.

"Soldiers on horseback heading for the forest. We need to move."

She nodded tautly and dropped her eyes to Jason's face. The way she bit her lip, Hercules could tell she was loath to wake him.

"Would you like me…?" he offered, gaze dipping to the sleeping man. And he found himself with the same regret, loath to disturb Jason, the poor kid needed rest, it felt cruel to rouse him.

"No," she returned quickly. "I'll wake him."

Hercules gave a commiserating smile and pushed to his feet. "We will be leaving shortly."

The queen inclined her head in understanding. There was toughness to her of which Hercules approved, she wasn't prone to panic, and she never simpered like she was helpless. The news of impending danger hardened her features, fixed her jaw in determined defiance and as Hercules walked away it was with the firm knowledge that both she and Jason would be ready to leave shortly.

Pythagoras and Miras were at the cart rifling through the stockpile for what was necessary and easily carried, preparing pouches for the onward journey. As Hercules sidled up beside them, the mathematician flicked a glance over his shoulder, toward Jason and Ariadne, and said in a low voice, "I think the queen should take the horse and go on ahead."

"By herself?" Hercules returned, aghast.

"No." Pythagoras fixed him with a steady gaze. "I think you should go with her."

Hercules blinked. And it took a long moment for him to sort the suggestion out in his head, what exactly Pythagoras was proposing. When he did, he was horrified. He and Ariadne travel on horseback to the cabin and leave Pythagoras and Jason, and possibly Miras if he felt inclined to stay with the group, to follow behind on foot.

"No," Hercules said emphatically. He didn't want to argue about it, he didn't want to discuss the pros and cons because it was an absolute no for him. No way was he going to leave either of his friends behind. He had endured the separation overnight when Pythagoras had been left in the city and it had nearly broken him, he was not going to endure it again.

"The queen must be protected," Pythagoras pressed. "And you are the best man to do it."

"Miras would be better suited," Hercules returned, and couldn't believe the suggestion was coming from _his_ lips. He mouth twisted in distaste, flattery of the man so unpalatable. "He has the training of a soldier. He's going to fit atop the horse with the queen much better than me. And I doubt either of you could carry Jason should the need arise."

"It is Jason who should travel with the queen," Miras said flatly, like it was apparent. "They are obviously close. And he can fight better than any man I have seen."

Hercules mused momentarily on whether Miras was being discreet in referring to Jason and Ariadne as _close_ or if he was honestly unaware of the queen's rumoured betrothal, then turned toward his friend who was gingerly getting to his feet. Yes, ordinarily Jason would be the obvious choice to accompany the queen, protect the woman who would be his wife, the most skilled for the task. But his current condition, his injury, was a complication. It was impossible to tell just how competent Jason was. Maybe he was capable of protecting the queen, he _probably_ was, injury hadn't hampered him in the past, but there was the niggling possibility that maybe he wasn't. And if he wasn't, if he couldn't, and Ariadne was captured or killed, where would that leave them? Ariadne was the key to removing Pasiphae from Atlantis. If anything happened to her there was no challenger to the throne. Other than Jason, who knew nothing about his claim, only a handful of people did, and it wasn't something they could rely upon. They needed to keep Ariadne safe, at all cost. And unfortunately, Miras was currently more suited to the task than Jason. It galled Hercules to reach that conclusion.

"I don't know that Jason is the best man for the job right now," Hercules reluctantly admitted.

"Just how badly injured is he?" Miras asked.

"He's fine," Hercules growled defensively and didn't care that the answer made no sense, Miras didn't need to know the extent of Jason's weakness.

Pythagoras interjected, "Badly enough that he may have difficulty wielding a sword."

Hercules huffed at even that small revelation. It was more than Miras needed to know. "Would you be willing to accompany the queen or not?" Hercules asked brusquely.

"Of course," Miras returned sharply, reacting to the surliness. "It would be a great honour to protect the queen."

Hercules was slightly mollified by the lack of equivocation in his tone, his honest desire to serve.

"The discussion may be academic if the queen refuses to go on ahead," Pythagoras pointed out. "I fear she will take some convincing."

Hercules grunted and recognized the truth of it. Ariadne had refused to part from the group (Jason) in the city, it was certainly foreseeable that she may be as stubborn again.

The young couple made their way toward the cart. Ariadne picked up blankets and pillows that were in her path, clearing the camp, until her arms were overflowing. Without warning she flung one of the pillows at Jason who followed a few steps behind. He caught it easily on his chest but was startled by it, brows flying high. She grinned at him and continued on her way and did not at all anticipate Jason tossing the pillow back at her, bouncing it off her spine. She swung around with an intake of breath and glared at him with such outrage and disbelief that Jason started laughing and protested, "It slipped out of my hands."

"Really?" She jutted her chin, regarded him with amused skepticism, bent down, keeping a fine balance on the items in her arms, got fingers to the pillow at her feet and whipped it back to Jason. His reflexes were too good, he caught it before it hit his stomach but his eyes rounded at the force behind the soft projectile.

"It slipped out of mine too," she said sweetly as she regained her height.

He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the pillow.

"Don't do it," she warned, dark eyes dancing, trying to suppress the quirk of her mouth. "It would be treason. That's no way to start a marriage."

He thought about it for a beat, a dangerous smile on his lips as he studied her like she was prey. But then his stance softened. He tossed the pillow into the air teasingly and caught it. Ariadne chuckled and relaxed but didn't turn her back to him again, she made her way to the cart with side steps.

Hercules watched them with mouth slightly agape. Their mood was so light that it was jarring. He felt an urge to reprimand them, remind them that their lives were in peril, soldiers were headed their way. But maybe this is how they needed to live, finding humour where they could, finding delight in small moments. It felt inappropriate and wrong but maybe it was just a matter of getting used to it. Ariadne and Jason were young and resilient and perhaps theirs was the example that should be followed.

When the pair reached the cart, dumping the items they carried into the tray, their amusement had passed, both wore expressions befitting the seriousness of their predicament.

"Are we ready to go?" Ariadne asked, searching the faces of her companions who were very quiet.

Pythagoras cleared his throat. "We have been discussing the possibility of you and another going ahead on horseback."

Ariadne's eyes flicked to Jason. He was still, the suggestion unexpected, uncertainty in the set of his mouth. The queen returned her attention to the mathematician. "I see. Who might the other be?"

"We were thinking Miras. He has a soldier's training and would be well suited to defend you." Pythagoras swallowed and cast his eyes nervously to the ground.

"No," she answered mildly. "I think we are stronger as a group. Splitting up would make us easier to defeat."

"Your majesty," Hercules said, "your safety is most important. Soldiers on horseback _will_ find us, we cannot possibly outdistance them on foot. You must go on ahead or there is no hope for Atlantis."

It was possibly not the best way of stating the situation, predicting an unavoidable encounter with enemy forces. Ariadne stiffened and skittered anxious eyes to her fiancee. "Then I will go on ahead with Jason."

A pained expression crossed Jason's face and he hesitated for a few seconds, considering the implications. "You should go on ahead with Miras," he said finally. "He will protect you."

Hercules was surprised, that Jason was willing to allow the queen out of his sight, that he was agreeable to the group splitting, that he would entrust her with another.

Ariadne blinked at the dissension. "I will not leave you behind," she returned curtly. "Either we both go or we stay together as a group."

"It would be a lot easier to evade soldiers as a group of three than a group of five. In this case the numbers work against us." Jason took hold of her hand to soften the words. "And you must be safe. You must be. If anything happens to you there is nothing to fight for." He contrived a smile. "We'll only be separated for a few days. I'll move as fast as I can to reach the cabin."

That was the crux of it, Hercules thought. Jason was agreeable because they were considering a separation of a day, two at the most. If the period were longer the conversation would be different.

"Do you know where the cabin is?" Ariadne asked dubiously.

"Yes. It's where we met with your brother. I remember."

Ariadne flicked her eyes amongst the men looking for disunity, looking for someone to offer an alternative but not one in the group disagreed with the proposal, she found no support in their faces for opposing the idea. Her shoulders sagged a little in defeat. With a grim look she tugged on Jason's hand and said, "Come with me. I would talk to you in private."

The couple moved away from the group, behind a nearby tree so as not be overheard. While they did so, Hercules pinned eyes on Miras and said, "You must be prepared to die for the queen. Do you understand? Nothing is more important than keeping her safe. Without her, Atlantis is lost."

"I understand," Miras returned solemnly. "I will lay down my life to protect her, be assured of it."

Hercules wasn't, that was the problem. The word_ traitor _kept swimming through his head_._

_ This is a terrible idea_, he thought. He agreed with it in principle, the queen going on ahead, on horseback she should easily evade the soldiers entering the forest. But there was more to fear than soldiers. Bandits, wild animals, rough terrain. He hated the idea of Ariadne being outside of their protection, in the hands of someone he only barely trusted. He vacillated about whether it really was the better plan, if it might be wiser that they all stayed together.

Ariadne emerged from the private conversation and Hercules was surprised by how brief it had been. In the dim light her eyes seemed to glisten but her expression was schooled and neutral. Jason followed behind stony faced. They weren't touching and Hercules found it noticeable, because they were almost always touching.

The young queen drew back her shoulders and said to Miras, "Thank you for offering to escort me through the forest. I do not doubt your devotion and bravery. It would be my pleasure to accompany you."

Miras bowed his head reverently, and Hercules was taken aback by how completely she appeared to now embrace the plan. He wondered what had been discussed privately, what Jason might have said to assuage her fears and doubts.

Ariadne took quick steps to Pythagoras, put her arms stiffly around his neck then drew away, a tight rein on her emotion. "I will see you in a few days. Be careful. Stay safe."

Pythagoras blinked long and breathed a small sigh. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "This is my fault. If I had made my way cleanly out of the city there would not be soldiers entering the forest. I have compromised your safety and made things harder for all of us. I am so sorry."

Her brows lifted in surprise. "You have been loyal and faithful." She flattened her palm gently against his chest. "And soldiers were always going to enter the forest. There is no need to apologise, I bear you no blame. On the contrary, I am grateful for all you have done."

"Thank you," Pythagoras murmured. He gave her a small smile. "All will go well. We will join you soon."

Her lips trembled as she nodded her head. She moved to Hercules and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You have been so steadfast and strong," she said. "I cannot adequately express my gratitude. Please keep them safe." She didn't look at Jason but Hercules knew that was what she meant, keep _him_ safe.

"I will," he replied, although his heart plummeted, wondering if it was a promise he could keep. He wasn't sure he could keep any of them safe. "But even more important is that you stay safe. Don't let Miras leave your side."

She nodded dumbly and whispered, "May the Gods be with you."

Ariadne's steps were heavy and slow as she moved to Jason, clearly reluctant to offer him goodbye. She flung her arms around his neck, buried her face in his throat and remained motionless for a long moment. His arms wrapped around her, the left one low across her back, still barely manageable, but the right enclosed her tightly, his fingers splayed against her nape, holding her close. His jaw pressed into her hair and he blinked a few times, struggling with his composure. They were both still, clinging to each other. Eventually she leaned back, slid a hand across his cheek and found his lips with hers. They closed their eyes and became immersed, curving together like two halves of a whole.

Hercules felt heat behind his eyes and averted his gaze, finding the raw emotion of their impending separation difficult to witness. As he rifled through the contents of the cart he felt weighted, the unwelcome thought came to his mind that this might be the last time Jason and Ariadne ever saw each other. If anything were to happen to Jason, if anything were to happen to Ariadne, this might be the last time, the last kiss. It made him think of Medusa. If he had known their last time together was going to be the last time, he would have held her tightly and kissed her deeply too. A lump formed in his throat. Memory of Medusa always squeezed his heart, made him yearn for one more day with her.

He shook himself, trying to banish the maudlin thoughts. Nothing was going to happen to any of them. The Gods were on their side. Jason had a grand destiny. Ariadne was queen. They would triumph over Pasiphae, it was inconceivable that they should not.

His eyes flitted to Pythagoras then Miras and both men looked…braced. Not confident. Not optimistic. Just grimly braced for whatever might happen next.


	10. Chapter 10

A long time between chapters, I know, I suck. Things take an unexpectedly nasty turn in this chapter. Hey, it was a surprise to me too.

Some Pythagoras POV.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"I am honestly stunned by your naivety sometimes," Hercules said tartly.

Jason blinked at the unexpected reproach, bristled, and Pythagoras felt it physically, felt Jason's muscles tense, because he had fingers at his friend's shoulder probing the injury, checking how it healed. There was a pause. A moment when Jason perhaps thought Hercules might apologise, or backtrack and reword his opinion with less acidity but he didn't and Jason finally answered with biting coolness, "It is a promise I intend to keep."

"No doubt," Hercules returned wryly.

Jason was seated on a fallen tree trunk, bare chested to expose his wound, tunic crumpled beside him. _Pythagoras's_ tunic crumpled beside him. Jason had shucked the heavy cloak he'd been wearing at the campsite and donned the tunic Pythagoras had stashed in the cart, it was easier to move in, and much better suited to the humidity of the forest. Pythagoras felt a twinge of jealousy at how well _his_ clothing suited Jason, the tunic flattered his friend in a way that it never had him.

Pythagoras winced as his eyes skirted the penetrating chest injury, dark dried blood crusting a wide gash, swept with mottled bruising. He was relieved there was no sign of infection, no redness, no heat in the skin, but the whole area looked fragile and painful and his fingers were very gentle in their prodding. There was a smaller wound at Jason's back where the tip of the dagger had just broken the surface, only a minor cut but it served as a reminder that Jason was split from front to back, there was a lot that needed to knit together, and an extended walk through the forest did him no favours, it wasn't conducive to healing.

Jason was uncomplaining, as was his custom, he made every effort to pretend that he was whole and well, but his friends knew better and Pythagoras in particular took note of physical cues to gauge how Jason was faring, how pale, how breathless, how quiet he was, how strained his posture, how closely he cradled his arm and would call a halt when he thought Jason was starting to struggle. They halted a lot. Jason protested bitterly about it early, keen to set a good pace and hasten to their rendezvous with Ariadne but became less opposed to the breaks as the hours wore on.

"Tell me again what Ariadne said."

Pythagoras sighed inwardly at Hercules' determination to make an issue of the queen's parting words. It was in his nature to be tactless and overly opinionated, they were some of his less attractive qualities.

"I have already told you," Jason said sharply, and Pythagoras couldn't blame his terseness, repeating the words could only invite further derision.

"Tell me exactly," Hercules persisted. "Tell me exactly what she said, I'm trying to understand."

Jason inhaled a breath, reluctant to comply. After a short pause he said with forced calm, "Ariadne made me promise that I would not make her a widow before she was married."

"That is so stupid," Hercules exploded, his tone loaded with irritation. "Why would either of you put any faith in such a promise?"

"I have never failed to keep a promise to her," Jason argued, colour flaring his cheeks. "That's why she asked it of me. That's why she was willing to go on ahead, because she trusted me to keep it."

"But it is not within your control," Hercules countered, pacing aimlessly in his aggravation, a few steps forward a few steps back. "You have made a promise that is entirely reliant on luck and circumstance."

"I don't think so," Jason dismissed, trying to draw the conversation to a close.

"Not only is it stupid, it is dangerous," Hercules continued, his heatedness increasing, his gestures becoming more animated. "You keep challenging the Gods. When you make a promise that you will not die, which is effectively what you did, you provoke the Gods, you proclaim yourself more powerful, more potent than them, and they hear you Jason, the Gods hear your arrogance and very soon they are going to do something about it. They are going to make you see how little control you have over your life, they are going to smack down that overconfidence and we will all have to endure it with you."

Jason's mouth fell open, stunned by the outburst, honest surprise in his expression. He dropped eyes to the ground and pressed his lips into a tight line, aware that defending himself would only rile Hercules further, and eager to bring the discussion to an end.

Pythagoras was in the unfortunate position of being more sympathetic to Hercules' opinion than Jason's. He much preferred when he could see each point of view equally. But Jason really did give little thought to the consequences of his actions and never considered how capricious the Gods could be. While everyone around him scrambled to appease the Gods, Jason gave them no thought. His promise to Ariadne was no doubt innocently made but he couldn't help feeling the same foreboding as Hercules. The fact that the challenge to the Gods was unwitting, unintentional, would not ameliorate the insult. The Gods loved Jason, it was clear, they had elevated him beyond ordinary men, but favour could easily turn, and Gods were easily angered.

Hercules huffed on some air, ran a hand over his head and looked a bit sorry for his strong words. "Ariadne should not have asked it of you," he said with less bite in his voice. "She should have known better."

Jason's head was down but Pythagoras was right beside him and could see how his cheeks burned, reproach of Ariadne even more inflammatory than personal reproach. He wanted to offer sympathetic words to Jason, he was suffering enough, but he didn't want to dilute Hercules message so he stayed silent.

Hercules moved tentatively closer. "Do you understand my frustration?" he asked, conciliatory in his tone. "Do you understand why I am upset?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Jason defiantly met Hercules gaze and answered, "The promise is made. And I intend to keep it."

There was a gurgle at the back of Hercules' throat, a sound of deep displeasure and he bellowed, "Are you out of your mind? Did any of what I just said penetrate that thick head? And your response is to insult the Gods anew? What is wrong with you? How do you expect to be king when you have fluff for brains? I cannot imagine."

Jason was angry, probably as angry as Hercules, it was obvious in the stiffness of his bearing and the tautness of his jaw but he refused to be drawn into unthinking insults and careless accusation and Pythagoras credited him for that. Jason had a much better understanding of how words could hurt, and how deeply they might be regretted later. Hercules tended to speak without thought and bury the resulting guilt in wine.

"Are we done?" Jason snapped at Pythagoras.

The mathematician was taken aback by the curtness, flustered that Jason's anger was now directed at him. _Thank you very much Hercules_.

"I need to rewrap the wound," Pythagoras weakly protested.

"It's fine," Jason clipped and pushed off the log to gain his feet, plucking up the tunic that was laid beside him.

"It really isn't," Pythagoras persisted meekly and slid eyes to Hercules seeking his help and intervention but the big man wasn't looking in his direction, he had a tight grip on a water skin and mumbled, "I'm going to get some water."

_Good idea_, Pythagoras thought, approving of Hercules instinct to remove himself from the group, before he said something that couldn't be forgiven.

Pythagoras returned his gaze to Jason, who was making a painful effort to slip the tunic over his head. He couldn't raise his left arm higher than his chest and was attempting to find a method to pull on the tunic whilst keeping his arm low, grunting and gasping with the effort.

Pythagoras watched exasperatedly for a moment. "Jason, please let me re-wrap the injury."

It was the most that Pythagoras could offer. He didn't have herbs to make an ointment to soothe the wound or express the healing, he couldn't make a tonic or tincture to ease the pain, all he could offer was to firmly wrap the injury and it was maddening to have that small effort denied.

Jason continued to wrestle with the tunic. The more of the material that he managed to get over his head the harder the task became, his movements restricted, his arms trapped by the clothing. He shouted in frustration, "Why is this so difficult?"

"Here…" Pythagoras grabbed Jason's left arm at the elbow, shoved it up beside his ear and pulled the material down over his head. It was a little rough, a little abrupt and it elicited a small cry from Jason. When Pythagoras dropped his grip, Jason stumbled backward a few steps, pressing a hand hard against his chest and sat down heavily on the log.

"Wrapping the injury might have prevented that," Pythagoras said sourly. It was a cheap shot, and probably not true, but it was hard to feel sympathy for Jason when he could be his own worst enemy, so resistant to sense and advice.

Jason furrowed his brow and stared at Pythagoras with eyes full of hurt as he rubbed at the wound. Immediately the mathematician was flooded with heavy and uncomfortable remorse. He knew his friend was trying not to be a burden, trying to bury his discomfort for the benefit of the group and felt cruel for his impatience.

"You two are making enough noise to wake the dead," Hercules chided as he plodded toward his friends, stoppering the refilled water-skin.

"It was Jason," Pythagoras returned. "He was trying to…"

Small choking noises from Hercules and a strange look on his face made Pythagoras swallow the rest of his words. The water-skin slipped from the big man's fingers and he made a feeble, twitching effort to reach behind him, reach for something at his back, before pitching forward, crashing senseless to the ground.

Jason and Pythagoras stared at their prostrate friend, stared at the shaft of an arrow protruding from his spine. There was a moment of shocked silence, numb, mute inaction before Jason snatched up his sword and hissed, "Keep your head down." Another arrow buried itself into a nearby tree with a dull thud, reinforcing the words.

Jason sprinted. Like there were wings on his heels he flew in the direction from which the arrow had come. For a second Pythagoras couldn't understand why, where he was going. His brain was struggling to function, struggling to make sense of what was going on, Hercules with an arrow in his back. With mouth agape he absently watched Jason disappear into the trees and then it struck him that Jason was going to confront the danger. Alone and injured, he was going to find the archer. And whoever else might be with him. And it was too late to prevent it. Pythagoras felt sick with dread.

_You must see to Hercules_, his mind screamed.

With his head low he took quick steps to his friend's side and felt like he was moving in a dream, lightheaded and unbalanced, he couldn't get his mind around the world suddenly sliding into danger and chaos. _Hercules with an arrow in his back._

"Hercules," Pythagoras called desperately, really _really _hoping Hercules would answer, and say something flippant like _its fine, just a scratch, nothing to worry about_. But Hercules was unconscious and battling to breathe, still making small choking noises, a thin stream of blood oozing from his mouth.

It was bad. It was bad.

An icy shudder went through Pythagoras. He closed his eyes to collect his thoughts. The arrow had to come out. But when he did that, all the blood that the shaft was stoppering would be released and he had to be prepared for it. He snapped open his lids and cast frantic eyes around the area looking for something to stanch the flow and alighted on the bandage that had covered Jason's wound. It was already lightly painted with Jason's blood and remnants of the herbs the Oracle had coated on his injury but there was plenty of material, albeit in a thin and unhelpful strip. He scrambled over to it on hands and knees, snatched it up, and scuttled quickly back to his friend.

With a silent hope that Hercules was too deeply unconscious to feel the arrow being removed, he wrapped fingers around the shaft and pulled on it hard to remove it cleanly. Hercules didn't flinch, which was both a relief and a concern but Pythagoras didn't have time to consider the implications as blood gushed from the wound like a tap had been opened. He bunched the material in his hands to give it some bulk and pressed hard against the hole in Hercules back, leaning all his weight into it to try and physically prevent the blood from escaping.

There were sounds of metal clashing in the distance and Pythagoras inhaled a quivering breath. He felt helpless and useless. _They're both going to die_, he thought. He couldn't help either of them. Jason was facing soldiers with no support and Hercules was expiring under his hands, blood saturating the bandage, refusing to allay.

As long minutes dragged by, Jason failed to return and Hercules bled his way toward death, Pythagoras started to consider his own mortality. It was a morbid and dark place that his mind took him to. If Jason and Hercules didn't survive, then, really, there was no reason for Pythagoras to live. It became an inescapable conclusion. And one that he grasped with increasing certainty. If his friends died, then so would he. It would be right. It would be fitting. He didn't allow himself to go further in the thought, didn't consider the _how_, but he was calm in his resolve.

When he noticed Jason stumbling through the trees Pythagoras gasped a few breaths, relief crushing his lungs. His head ached with the intensity of his emotions. As he watched, Jason paused, leaned heavily against a trunk, gathered himself before continuing. His steps were unsteady and he lifted his face skyward sucking in air, but it was enough for Pythagoras. Jason was alive and mobile and it felt like a small victory, beyond that he didn't need to know.

"How is he?" Jason asked, his voice weak and breathy as he dropped to his knees beside Pythagoras.

A lump in Pythagoras's throat wouldn't let him answer, wouldn't let him admit that it didn't look good for Hercules. Something inside had been pierced, something important, more than just flesh and muscle. Jason might survive such an injury, his ability to heal was exceptional, but he had grave doubts about Hercules who wasn't blessed with the same fortitude and resilience. He shook his head and the trembling of his jaw betrayed his hopelessness.

"No," Jason whispered brokenly. "What can I do? How can I help?"

"There is nothing," Pythagoras managed to reply, his voice burning his throat. "He just won't stop bleeding."

Pythagoras slid his eyes sideways and brushed his gaze over Jason's whole body scanning for fresh injury. There didn't seem to be much; a few cuts on his arm, a split to his lip, but the blossoming blood at Jason's chest momentarily transfixed him. _He's back where he started. _ Whatever progress Jason had made in the healing of his wound was now undone, blood was flowing into the material of the tunic where the gash had reopened. And Pythagoras couldn't worry about it right now, couldn't do anything to help. Jason's injury was a known quantity, they had been dealing with it for over a day, it was unpleasant, it was troubling, but in all likelihood Jason would survive and Hercules was the priority.

"Lie down Jason, please," Pythagoras instructed. "I am doing all I can for Hercules but you need to take care of yourself. Drink some water."

Jason shifted away without argument. With a quick flick of his eyes Pythagoras saw his friend slump against a nearby tree with his head in his hands. He looked shattered. There was such anguish in his pose, such defeat that it stirred emotion anew in Pythagoras. Their lives were turmoil at the moment, every day, every minute was impossible, it was a struggle not to burst into tears.

Pythagoras skittered his gaze back to the task at hand. The flow of blood from Hercules wound was diminishing but Pythagoras suspected it was due more to a decrease in internal pressure than an encouraging sign. Hercules was running out of blood. There was a scarlet pool of it beside them, dripping from the overburdened cloth, soaking into the knees of Pythagoras's trousers, covering his hands up to his wrists. It was hopeless. _Hopeless_. There was no way anyone could survive losing such a quantity of blood. But Pythagoras continued his ministrations, continued to press against the wound, not ready to admit defeat, hoping against hope for a miracle.

"I thought I would find you."

Pythagoras whipped his head around at the female voice. Jason was already on his feet with his sword raised, glaring menacingly at Medea as she approached.

"You make it too easy when you linger near a slaughtered patrol," the woman admonished.

_A slaughtered patrol? Just how many had Jason single handedly defeated?_

"I would not draw closer," Jason warned darkly. "Unless you wish to meet a similar fate."

Medea tipped her head to the side and tightened her lips reproachfully. "We have already established that you cannot kill me."

"Today is a different day."

She gave a wry disbelieving smile but halted nevertheless. "If you tell me where Ariadne is I will be on my way."

"Have you lost the queen?" Jason replied with an absence of humour, he sounded genuinely surprised. "I'm sure she will turn up."

Pythagoras watched in perplexity as Jason began taking wary steps toward Medea. That he was able to move at all seemed incredible, he had to be feeling awful, the loss of blood had to be draining, making him shaky but he didn't betray it. If not for the bright stain on the tunic Medea might never have guessed he was injured, he moved with remarkable poise.

"You owe me a favour," Jason said in a low, dangerous voice, bridging the distance between them. "I saved your life and you betrayed me by stabbing Ariadne. You owe me. And I would like to collect."

Medea narrowed her eyes and studied Jason, staying deliberately still, refusing to be intimidated as he neared with a drawn sword. If Pythagoras had liked her even a little he might have been impressed by her courage. And he wondered what she had thought was going to happen, what she had anticipated when she had approached them so boldly, addressed them so confidently. What had been her plan? He really couldn't guess.

"What would you have me do?" she asked evenly.

Jason pressed the tip of his sword against Medea's throat, and she let him do it. There was glaring, and hard eyes, but Medea didn't cower or flinch from his aggression, and it made Pythagoras frown. She was either very confident that Jason wouldn't kill her or very confident in her ability to prevent it.

"I want you to heal Hercules."

Medea shifted her focus to Pythagoras, noticing for the first time that Hercules was prone beneath him. "I will not," she spat. "I care nothing for Hercules."

Jason pressed the tip a little harder into Medea's throat and she drew back slightly. "If you heal Hercules I will return with you to Atlantis. As your prisoner."

"Jason, don't," Pythagoras cautioned. He saw no benefit in one friend being sacrificed for another. Jason ignored the plea, kept his eyes trained on Medea.

The woman lifted her eyebrows, piqued by the offer but skeptical. "I don't believe you. If I heal your friend you will draw your sword and tell me to be on my way. Or worse."

The sword at Medea's throat was carefully lowered until it hung limply at Jason's side. "I won't do that. I give you my word."

"What about him?" Medea twitched her head toward Pythagoras.

"Pythagoras?" Jason asked dubiously, which was a little insulting, Pythagoras had killed men, he could be dangerous. "Pythagoras! Assure Medea that you will not hurt her."

It was an assurance Pythagoras didn't want to give. It was asking too much. He wanted Hercules healed, he wanted it desperately, but not at Jason's expense. He needed time to consider. He needed time to think of options because there had to be another way. They needed a miracle, but not this.

"Pythagoras?" Jason prompted impatiently.

"Yes, alright. I will not hurt Medea."

The world was out of balance. They were making deals with Medea? Trusting her? Hercules would be strident in his opposition. Hercules would call them fools, and worse. Hercules would be scathing. Hercules…

Pythagoras dropped eyes to his friend, whose breath was rasping and labored, more blood outside of him than in, death a dismal certainty.

"And you will return to Atlantis with me? If I heal him?" Medea prodded. "Without argument or fight?"

"Yes. You leave my friends to continue their journey and I will accompany you willingly."

Pythagoras' heart sank. There was such honesty and earnestness in the words, it left no doubt that Jason meant it.

A smile ghosted Medea's lips. "Fine. I will do you this favour," she said. "But I do it for you, not for him."

"I don't care why you do it," Jason returned disdainfully. "I just want it done. Now."

There was a look of distaste on Medea's face as she moved to where Hercules lay, Jason following closely behind, and knelt beside him. Pythagoras stared coldly at the woman, feeling no warmth for her, filled with animosity, bursting with it, even though she was about to save Hercules life. Medea paid him no attention, looking through him like he wasn't there.

The sodden bandage that had been used to soak up the blood was brushed aside. Medea placed a hand over the wound at Hercules back and whispered an incantation under her breath that turned her eyes orange. The air crackled, distorting under the weight of something ominous and unnatural. For long moments nothing happened, everything was still. The anticipation and hope were agonising.

Then Hercules groaned. It was possibly the sweetest sound Pythagoras had ever heard, an indication that his friend was regaining his senses.

Hercules head moved restlessly and a low-pitched whine escaped him, climbing in intensity until it was pain-filled and alarming. Pythagoras skipped eyes to Jason, gauging his reaction, not sure if the agonised response was something to be concerned about, but Jason was intent and unperturbed, reassuring in his calm. Hercules eyes flew open and his hand reached behind, trying to feel for the source of his pain, make it stop. Medea kept her hand on him until he bucked beneath her and rolled away, forcibly breaking the contact.

Wide-eyed confusion, mute blankness was on Hercules' face, as he looked around uncertainly at the group and tried to put the pieces together, tried to figure out what was going on.

Pythagoras laughed and sobbed at the same time, it was an ugly choked sound. He felt jubilation at Hercules being restored but also a heavy pall because now there was a price to be paid.

Medea stood quickly, wiping her bloodied hand against her skirt. "He will live," she said to Jason. "We should go."

"Thank you," Jason returned sincerely and Pythagoras felt a stab of irritation that Jason should feel any gratitude toward the woman, should feel any sort of indebtedness to her when she had brought them misfortune, now and in the past. She had healed Hercules only because it would deliver her Jason, that was nothing to be grateful for. "Give me a moment to say goodbye."

She inclined her head agreeably.

"What's going on?" Hercules asked in bewilderment and pushed himself to a sitting position. With a nod toward Medea he added, "Why is the witch here? Why is she not dead?"

Jason examined Hercules with joy and light in his face. He crouched before the big man and Hercules brow puckered, his eyes fixed on the blood soaking Jason's tunic. "What did you do?" Hercules asked slowly, lifting a hesitant hand as if to touch the injury, but before he could do so Jason threw his good arm around the big man and wrapped him in a crushing embrace, burying his face into the ample shoulder.

"Thank God," Jason muttered. "Thank God."

Hercules cast puzzled, troubled eyes toward Pythagoras. "What is going on?" he asked gruffly. "You're both acting very strangely."

"You were shot in the back," Pythagoras supplied. "Medea saved your life."

So few words to describe something so tumultuous, it didn't seem right.

"Why would she do that?"

Jason drew back from the embrace and swiped at the tears running down his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Because I asked her to," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "Because she owes me a favour."

"That's – not the whole truth," Pythagoras drawled. He was yet to touch Hercules. He wanted to embrace him, to revel in his friend's miraculous return to health but he couldn't bring himself to do it, because he knew the cost and wasn't sure how he felt about it. He was torn, very torn. "Jason struck a bargain with Medea that if she saved your life he would return with her to Atlantis."

Hercules gaped at Jason. "Why – Why – Why would you do that?"

"Because you were dying. You would have died. It is a small price for your life."

"No." Hercules shook his head in disbelief. "No. I don't accept it. Kill Medea and be done with it, you don't owe her anything."

"I can't," Jason replied solemnly. "I gave her my word and I won't break it."

"Then I will kill her," Hercules stated firmly. "Give me your sword."

"No." Jason edged the sword behind him, out of Hercules' reach. "Medea saved your life and I won't see her killed for it."

"She stabbed Ariadne! Let me kill her for that."

Jason tightened his mouth disapprovingly.

"This is madness," Hercules said curtly, anger and outrage always close to the surface. "If you return to Atlantis you will be tortured and killed."

Jason looked away, ending the conversation, and placed a hand on Hercules' shoulder in preparation to stand.

"You made a promise to Ariadne," Hercules quietly entreated.

Jason peered at him sharply, narrowing his eyes. After a few beats he replied, "It is in the hands of the Gods."

Pythagoras swallowed. Jason _had_ been listening, he had taken on board what Hercules had said earlier. And now, the answer he gave was the correct one, and not what Pythagoras wanted to hear, he would have much preferred Jason to say _it is a promise I intend to keep_.

The injured man pushed off Hercules, but before he reached his full height he uttered a small moan and sank to his knees, his head dropping to his chest. He glanced at Pythagoras from under his lashes and said, "I might need your help."

_I don't want to help_, Pythagoras thought. _I don't want any part of this_.

But he couldn't deny his injured friend. He got hands under Jason's shoulders and hauled him upright, then scrambled to plant his feet firmly and find a more solid grip when Jason collapsed heavily against him, a dead weight in his arms. Pythagoras scanned his friend's face anxiously, not sure if he had fainted.

"Jason?"

A deep, exhausted breath was expelled and Jason sighed, "I wonder if Medea will carry me."

Pythagoras pressed his lips together. "You cannot possibly return to Atlantis," he berated. "You can't possibly walk that distance."

"That's Medea's problem," Jason chuckled ruefully.

Gradually he repossessed himself, got his legs fixed beneath him and pushed wearily away from Pythagoras to a stand, wavering lightly without the support. He rested his fingers gently against Pythagoras' collarbone, favouring him with a smile that was warm and steady and free of regret. Pythagoras could only respond with brimming tears and a trembling jaw.

"It's fine," Jason assured. "It'll be fine." He slid eyes to their large friend. "Hercules is alive."

There was such innocent selflessness in the statement, in the sentiment that Hercules survival mattered beyond all else, that it could balm the loss of Jason, that Pythagoras was incapable of speech. He nodded shallowly and couldn't express his gratitude through his tightly constricted throat.

Jason pulled the leather band attached to the sword over his head and handed it to Pythagoras. "You'd better take this." With a nod toward the big man he added, "Don't let Hercules get his hands on the sword before we're out of sight."

Hercules clicked his tongue but didn't retort. After a last lingering look Jason turned and trudged to where Medea waited. As he took those slow steps Pythagoras kept expecting Hercules to jump up and do something, _fix this_, _prevent this_, but Hercules stayed seated on the ground, watching desolately as Jason walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

This story... I just don't know about this story. It descends into torture this chapter. What's going on? Who's writing this?

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Whatever ideas Hercules secretly harboured about following Jason and Medea through the forest and rescuing his friend before he reached Atlantis were quickly dashed. When he moved to rise, to get to his feet, he discovered that he had no strength, not even enough to push to a stand. He groaned his frustration as his incompetent legs shuddered and shook and refused to accept any of the weight of his large frame.

Pythagoras was beside him in a second, crouching and examining him, peeling the shirt away from his back to look under, light fingers pressing against the skin.

"The witch cheated us," Hercules exclaimed, furious. "She didn't heal me at all. And she took Jason anyway."

His rage was deep and scattered, aimed at Medea, aimed at Pasiphae, aimed at Jason. The only person it wasn't aimed at was Pythagoras and he was going to bear the brunt of it.

The blond head jiggered side to side. "Trust me, she healed you."

"Then why am I as weak as a kitten?"

"Because you recently had an arrow in your back and lost most of the fluid inside of you," Pythagoras returned logically, leaning back on his heels, absently looking in the direction that Jason had taken.

"Medea was supposed to heal me," Hercules growled. "I should be good as new."

"You are not dead," Pythagoras stated with small impatience. "It seems ungrateful of you to complain that you are not alive _enough_. Honestly, just take the win."

Hercules huffed. It was hardly a win. Although he _was_ very grateful for his life. It was a bit of a blur what had occurred. A thump in the back, fire burning through him and then Jason was leaving. He was still reeling from the enormity of it, removed from the emotion because he had skipped the upheaval, and a bit perplexed by the decisions that had been made. He secretly believed there must have been another way to save him, without losing Jason. He had a sneaking suspicion that his friends had panicked and made some poor choices.

Pythagoras ran a hand down his face, wiping away the moisture of sweat and tears. Some of the blood that was on his hand was transferred to his face and it made him look at bit ghoulish.

"You've got a bit of…" Hercules pointed at his friend's cheek.

"What?" Pythagoras swiped at the skin and painted himself with more blood.

Hercules sniffed. "Doesn't matter." They could clean themselves up later. Visit the stream nearby before they continued. The material at Hercules back was moist and heavy, he didn't want to think about how much blood was soaked into the tunic, he would need to take it off and rinse thoroughly.

"You shouldn't have let him do it." Hercules couldn't help himself. Even though he knew it was a poor conversation to start, prodding at an open sore, he couldn't help commenting on the course of action that had been taken and expressing his disapproval.

"Please don't," Pythagoras said with a long blink, anguish in his voice. "Don't second guess it. You were not there." He tilted his head. "In a manner of speaking."

"_I_ wouldn't have let him do it," Hercules stated, convinced it was true.

"Really? If it were me with an arrow in the back, you would have let me die?"

"Of course not," Hercules said, offended by the suggestion. "I would have forced Medea to heal you without any deals."

Pythagoras huffed a derisive breath and returned curtly, "How easy to say when you were not there. Let me help you up. We cannot stay here."

Hercules was surprised by the urgency, that Pythagoras wanted to move rather than give him a chance to rest and recover, it seemed counter to his usual tenderness.

"Are we going after Jason?" Hercules asked, both hopeful and in dread of the answer.

Pythagoras' brow skewed sharply. "No!" he replied, with such vehemence that it made Hercules defensive.

"Well then what's the rush?" he returned heatedly. "And why not?"

With angry disbelief on his face Pythagoras glared at Hercules for a few seconds, then gained his feet and paced away a few steps.

Hercules upturned his palms. "What?" genuinely unaware of what was troubling Pythagoras and a little irritated by it, they didn't have time for histrionics. "We should rescue Jason before he reaches Atlantis. Once he's in a cell surrounded by the Colchean army it's going to be a lot more difficult."

Pythagoras whirled around to face him, his features twitching with barely contained emotion, more than he normally exhibited. "A few moments ago you were a couple of heartbeats away from death, Hercules. Death! And to prevent it Jason sacrificed himself by making a deal that may very well lead to _his_ death. It's enough. Enough of rash decisions and foolish heroics. You cannot even stand and you want to attack Medea, who could kill you as soon as look at you. I don't know how much more I can take."

The mathematician closed his eyes tightly and bit his lip hard. Hercules blinked, not sure how to respond but aware that whatever his reply, it needed to be gentle because Pythagoras was strung tight enough to snap.

"Come here," Hercules said softly, because he didn't have the strength to move to Pythagoras. The blond regarded him uncertainly. "Come and sit next to me. I think we need to breathe for a minute. Come here and we'll do it together."

Pythagoras shoulders drooped and he took slow steps to Hercules, collapsing heavily to sit beside him.

"We should move before soldiers find us," Pythagoras said half-heartedly.

"Yes, we should," Hercules returned agreeably. "And we will. Take a deep breath."

Pythagoras sighed his annoyance. "Hercules…"

"Humor me," Hercules said. "You have obviously been through an ordeal and you need to find your composure. And I would like to be able to talk to you without any yelling."

"I don't yell," Pythagoras said mildly.

"Only on rare occasions," Hercules retorted with a hinted smile.

They sat beside each other in deliberate silence for a few minutes, until Pythagoras shifted restlessly. "We really should move. There is a slaughtered Colchean patrol through the trees and we don't want to be caught nearby."

Hercules frowned, and was going to ask questions, but then thought _Jason _and didn't really need to know more. That damn boy. So reckless, and so bloody deadly. "Yes, okay, but first can we calmly discuss what we are going to do about Jason."

Pythagoras looked away uncomfortably, studying the ground. "I don't think we can do anything about Jason at the moment." His head rocked unhappily, and when it stilled he added, "I think we should meet up with the queen and Miras and formulate a considered plan to rescue him. I don't think we should go off half baked and ill prepared."

The big man drew a breath between his teeth. "They might kill him as soon as he sets foot in Atlantis."

Pythagoras sighed deeply and shifted his gaze to the distance. "Pasiphae will want to find Ariadne. She cannot claim legal entitlement to the throne until Ariadne is dead or renounces her claim. And knowing Jason he will not be forthcoming in revealing Ariadne's whereabouts. I don't think they will kill him immediately, I think we will have a few days." He knitted his brow. "And he is Pasiphae's son, they may not kill him at all."

Hercules grunted. That was a can of worms. Who knew how Pasiphae was minded toward her son. The close tie may actually be more reason to kill him. And just as bad as Jason being killed would be Pasiphae telling him that she was his mother. The Oracles warning loomed large in his mind; _His heart will blacken_. His gut was telling him that they needed to rescue Jason sooner rather than later. But his head was telling him that Pythagoras was probably right, they needed a plan and they needed reinforcement.

"It's a risk," Hercules said, deliberately playing devils advocate, wanting to explore all arguments to avoid regret later. "We could chase after them right now, cut down Medea and free Jason."

Pythagoras looked him up and down. "Except that we can't, can we? You are not physically capable of it. And confronting Medea is more dangerous than confronting soldiers because she has unnatural abilities. She could kill us without being anywhere near us, we wouldn't stand a chance."

Hercules nodded his reluctant agreement. They descended into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts.

"What a mess," Hercules sighed. "I miss the days when our biggest problem was finding money for bread."

"Usually because you drank away all our earnings."

"No," Hercules said indignantly even though he knew Pythagoras was teasing. "Sometimes." He ran a hand across his head and expelled a breath. "Ariadne is not going to take this well. She asked me to keep Jason safe. As did the Oracle. Why is it so difficult to keep one man safe?"

"Because he is a man with no concern for his safety," Pythagoras replied ruefully.

"I don't know who to be more afraid of," Hercules mused, "Ariadne, when she finds out we lost Jason, or Pasiphae."

"Pasiphae," Pythagoras returned immediately, grimly. "Always Pasiphae."

_Jason's mother_. It still seemed inconceivable. Their most feared enemy was their friend's closest relative. And Jason had no idea. It was a tangled web, so tentatively strung that Hercules wondered how long the secret could remain, and what might happen when it was revealed.

* * *

Torture. Wow. That was – well not exactly unexpected, Hercules had been fairly certain it was awaiting him. But it came as a surprise to Jason. It probably shouldn't have, he knew Colcheans were brutal and vicious, torture was probably pretty standard fare. But he'd been a captive of the Colcheans not long ago and that hadn't involved torture. Although he had been rescued fairly promptly by his friends. Perhaps that was why there was no messing around with it this time, because they didn't want to lose the opportunity again.

It was just that–. He kind of thought -. He and Medea actually got on okay.

As soldiers snapped metal cuffs around his wrists, chaining his hands in front of him he smiled bitterly at what an idiot he was, thinking that whatever was going on between him and Medea, whatever strange rapport they had, would protect him.

He played up to Medea. He could see the way she looked at him, with interest and mild desire in her dewy eyes, and he couldn't help but take advantage of it. It had saved Hercules life so he wasn't sorry for it. But it wasn't all playing, it wasn't all acting, she affected him more than he was comfortable with, he sympathized with her more than he should.

He didn't hate Medea, that was the first problem. He really should. She had jammed a knife into Ariadne's side, tried to kill her, and played Jason for a fool in the process. He should hate her intensely, it was wrong that he didn't. In isolation he could do it, despise her with real conviction, but in her company he faltered. There was something vulnerable about her, something lost and desperate and he always ended up feeling sorry for her, wanting to protect her.

The return journey to Atlantis had not been unpleasant.

They had shared a horse, Jason in front and Medea behind, her arms around his torso in a way that was intimate and disconcerting. At first he was offended. It was ridiculous that she should sit behind when she was so much smaller, he assumed it was because she thought he might try to escape, trying to assert her authority.

She had been rigid behind him, as uncomfortable with the closeness as he was, but concerned for his well being. She asked if the pace suited him, if it was causing him pain. She offered him water and something to eat. She whispered regretfully that she couldn't heal his injury, that it was not an easy thing and she couldn't do it so soon after healing Hercules. She was compassionate and warmhearted and it was confusing, it was as if they were friends. By the time they reached Atlantis he had forgotten that he was her prisoner. Addled by the throb in his chest and a tiring lightheadedness, they had journeyed to Atlantis like companions and at some point he had forgotten that they weren't. He became comfortable in her company and embrace.

It was a shock, when they reached their destination, to have rough hands claw him from the mount, to have soldiers treat him with harsh disdain. It very quickly returned him to reality. He was amongst enemies he remembered, and while Medea watched him get dragged away with regret in her soft eyes, he made sure to pin her with an icy glare, to remind her (and himself) that they were on opposite sides of a war.

A soldier threaded the chain extending from his hands through a metal ring embedded in the ceiling and pulled hard, jerking his arms above his head with such force that it made him gasp. He scrambled to get his feet beneath him and rise at the same pace as the chain passed through the ring to minimize the impact on his shoulders. But there wasn't much he could do when he was stretched full length, his toes barely brushing the sandy floor. Very quickly his arms screamed for relief. And the damned gash in his chest, which was never going to heal, burned, and started trickling fresh blood, once again the tunic became wet and clung uncomfortably to his skin.

_This is the price for Hercules life,_ he thought. And without hesitation he still considered it a good deal. Whatever the Colcheans had planned for him, he could endure it with the knowledge that it had saved Hercules life. There was nothing they could throw at him that would make him regret his decision.

There was some delay in getting the show on the road. Jason was left in solitude, suspended from the ceiling for some time. For a while he wondered if this was it, if it was his fate to be consigned to a dungeon, never to be seen again. If so it was anticlimactic and kind of unimaginative, he expected more from Pasiphae. For that reason as much as any he couldn't help thinking there was more to come, that the solitude was supposed to be intimidating, the suspense was intended to increase his fear and dread. It didn't. It was just annoying and uncomfortable. If Pasiphae was going to confront him, beat him, employ some ancient barbarity, whatever, he wished she would get on with it. All he could do was shift his head side to side, forward and back and it had little effect on the ache that started in his arms and gradually invaded his whole body.

He tested the strength of the pin in the ceiling, lifted his feet and pulled hard on the chain, costing him in pain and fatigue, but the pin was infuriatingly solid, it budged not at all, easily accepting his full weight and more. _Hercules could pull that thing out_. He'd seen Hercules snap chain, he was pretty sure his friend could have dislodged the pin. And Pythagoras could probably come up with some mathematical way of overloading the force to dislodge the pin. It made him growl that he wasn't so resourceful, frustrated by his inability to help himself.

Footsteps sounded, heading toward the cell and a woman's voice. His heart leapt at the thought that it might be Medea, coming to get him out of this predicament. But the hope was quickly dashed when Pasiphae swept into view, embracing the role of villain in a lavish black dress contoured to her girlish figure. She pinched the full length skirt between her fingers as she walked so that it didn't brush the sandy floor and the ladylike gesture seemed at odds with her ruthless personality. Two guards followed stiffly behind. She halted before the bars of the cell and stared at Jason for a moment. He got the feeling she was sizing him up, noticing everything, gauging and assessing.

"I understand that you volunteered for imprisonment," Pasiphae said haughtily. "That is a rare folly. You must have enjoyed my previous hospitality."

The soldiers sniggered quietly. Jason gritted his teeth, affronted but careful to hold his tongue.

"You can avoid some unpleasantness if you simply tell me where Ariadne is," she continued brusquely, barely looking at him, which made the offer seem disingenuous.

Straight to the point, Jason thought, a little surprised by the lack of preamble, that there wasn't more gloating, more of an attempt to threaten and coerce. She had been quite conversational at their last encounter, she apparently saw no point in it this time.

He regarded her with hooded eyes. "The last I saw Ariadne was in the Palace. Have you looked there?"

A tight smile flickered briefly on the woman's face. "I didn't expect you to be sensible."

She cast her eyes at the soldiers, gave a small nod of her head, and they needed no more than that by way of instruction. The cell door was opened and the men entered, fixing themselves close to the strung prisoner, just beyond where he might be able to reach with his feet. Suddenly Jason felt very vulnerable, stretched helplessly, very exposed.

"Despite what you may think I honestly have no desire to hurt you," Pasiphae said and damn if she didn't sound genuine. "But I must find Ariadne. Are you sure you would rather not have a congenial conversation?"

"Let me out of these chains and I will be as congenial as you like," Jason replied, slight menace in his tone.

"You tell me where Ariadne is and I will set you free immediately."

Jason paused. Not because he was considering her offer but because he couldn't tell if she really meant it. Her manner was puzzling, he had discovered that the last time he was her prisoner, he could never tell when she was being earnest and honest and when she was lying. It unsettled him. She spoke like they weren't truly enemies, or didn't need to be enemies, and he couldn't tell if it was a ploy or how she truly felt.

"I believe Ariadne is in the palace," Jason finally said.

A guard took a quick step forward, punched Jason in the stomach and took a quick step back. It was so clinical and abrupt, oddly lacking in emotion or malice, part of the procedure.

Jason struggled for air. He couldn't get anything in or out for what felt like a long time. His body's instinct was to curl and protect but being strung full length wouldn't allow it which made recovery take longer.

Pasiphae waited patiently for him to regain his breath, her face impassive and neutral. His suffering didn't move her at all. "I know Ariadne is not in the palace, I have had every inch of it searched, so let's try again. Where is Ariadne?"

"In the palace," Jason gasped. This time he was tensed and ready for the jab to the midriff, the effect was less severe but still significant, once again it took his breath away, jolted his body backward and he shut his eyes tightly against the sharp pain.

"I can do this all day," Pasiphae said tersely, her fingers opening and closing, betraying the aloofness "Can you? Where is Ariadne?"

"In the palace."

As the soldier stepped forward to deliver his punishment, Jason wrapped his fingers around the chains above his head and used the leverage to lift his feet and smash his heel into the nose of the guard. The man reeled backward with a cry, a hand to his face as he stumbled blindly, blood gushing from between his fingers. The second guard quickly drew his sword and rushed at Jason, ignoring cries of "No" in the background. Jason jumped, pulled his legs up to his chest, above the clumsy thrust of the sword and slammed his feet down hard into the man's ribs. Even wearing leather armour the blow left the man gasping for air, clutching his chest, bones hopefully cracked as he staggered away doubled over.

"_Now_ I can do this all day," Jason said smugly, elated that even bound and injured he could defeat armed soldiers. Although the acrobatics had nearly killed him. The strain on his muscles was enormous, everything was on fire. But the adrenaline, the victory, made him oblivious to it, made him cocky.

Pasiphae stared at the suffering soldiers as they stumbled out of the cell, disgust written on her face. For a moment Jason felt guilty that he had probably destined those men to harsh recrimination. The woman shifted her hard expression to Jason and glared at him with such intensity that he started to wonder if she was contemplating murdering him personally, right there and then. He didn't doubt she was capable. Everything was still and silent, the injured men gagged their moans, menace and disbelief hung heavily in the air.

"Perhaps I will return when you are feeling less energetic," Pasiphae spat, as she lifted her skirt roughly, swung around and stalked off, the injured soldiers trailing limply behind.

Jason released the breath he was holding and considered that he might have just dodged a bullet. Or perhaps he had only made things worse for himself. He really couldn't tell. But for now he consoled himself with the thought that Ariadne was safely outside Pasiphae's reach, and he was going to make every endeavor to ensure it stayed that way.


	12. Chapter 12

There is some uncharacteristic bad language in this chapter, as Jason starts to lose his cool. And have conversations with Freddie Mercury.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Hercules assumed the role of impediment that Jason had vacated, unable to find pace or rhythm as they travelled through the forest, needing frequent breaks to rest and guzzle water. The arrow wound in his back was mostly healed, an angry red line marked where the grievous injury had been but the skin was sealed, it wasn't weeping, and there was no pain in movement. However there were lingering effects from the trauma; fatigue, unsteadiness and an unquenchable thirst. Pythagoras wasn't concerned by it, wasn't in any doubt that Hercules would recover fully given time and he tried to be sympathetic to his friend's struggle, tried not to be gruff in his concern but impatience and irritation kept bubbling forth. He prickled with discontent at the situation they now found themselves in, absent of Jason, walking in the opposite direction to him, even though it was his suggestion that they follow this course and meet up with the queen. Hercules lack of stoicism and constant complaint didn't help. It rubbed at Pythagoras, rubbed at already frayed nerves, blanketed his usual good humour with a sourness and biting sarcasm that made Hercules wrinkle his forehead and peer at him uneasily.

_I will apologise for it later_, Pythagoras promised himself. When he could breathe freely, when their lives were steady, when everyone was safe, he would readily confess to Hercules that his behaviour had been unreasonable and accept whatever chastisement Hercules wished to give. But not now. He was incapable of tolerance and compassion right now, he just couldn't find it within himself.

He traipsed through the forest with hunched shoulders and a persistent and uncomfortable flutter in his chest as every sound spooked him; wind rustling the leaves, animals startling in the undergrowth. His head was on a swivel, imagining soldiers everywhere, all around them, stalking them, waiting to pounce. Rationalism failed him because he knew only a handful of soldiers had entered the forest, and the likelihood of being discovered twice in the vastness was small, but that it had already occurred once, with devastating effect, made the prospect of it occurring again seem more than likely. He yearned to reach their destination and the security of a dwelling, a contained space, a place where he could hunker down and see exactly what surrounded him. The slow pace, Hercules's lack of vitality, made him twitchy. His fingers and toes oscillated with too much energy in opposition to the apathetic progress.

The men journeyed the full day in search of the cottage. They knew vaguely where it was, they had been there before, but the forest growth was so prolific that it could only be spotted from a short distance. There were many hissed arguments about direction, a wildly fluctuating route as one then the other took the lead and Pythagoras felt the passage of time keenly, his mind never far from thoughts of Jason and what he might be enduring while they stumbled around like oafs.

When the building came into sight Pythagoras' relief was enormous, but as one problem was resolved another came to the fore and his heart clutched tightly with a new worry, acute dread at telling Ariadne that Jason was now a prisoner of the Colcheans and back in Atlantis. He couldn't predict what her reaction might be but he didn't expect her to take the news easily.

The pair approached the cottage with heavy, tired steps and stood before the door for a few moments preparing for their entry, taking some breaths, sharing fortifying glances, each bracing for the reaction when they entered as a two and not a three.

Pythagoras knocked on the door to announce their arrival and didn't wait for the knock to be answered seeing as they were expected. He pushed open the door with a bowed head and thin-lipped determination but then tiptoed over the threshold, a mix of resolve and reluctance.

The cottage wasn't large, a single room, one quick traveling glance was enough to take in the whole space, and it was all that was needed to conclude that the building was empty.

Pythagoras paused a few steps into the room, Hercules crowding his back, and examined the surrounds more closely in case there was a hidden area he had missed, completing a full turn in his diligence.

"Where are they?" Hercules punctured the silence.

Pythagoras shook his blond curls. "I don't know." He twisted his head toward the door, narrowed his eyes. "Are we in the right place?"

"There are few cottages in the forest," Hercules observed drily. "I hardly think we could be mistaken."

"But perhaps there is another," Pythagoras offered hesitantly. "Perhaps we got so far off course that this is another cottage altogether, nowhere near where we are supposed to be."

Hercules knitted his brow and considered it for a moment, his eyes darting around the interior appraisingly. "No, this is the right place. We've been here before."

"Perhaps all cottages in the forest look alike."

Hercules frowned his disagreement. "That's a stretch."

"Then where are they?" Pythagoras exclaimed, upturning his palms. "Where are the queen and Miras? We cannot possibly have beaten them here."

The big man shrugged absently and his eyes rested on the large bed against the wall, longing in his expression.

"What should we do?" Pythagoras could hear the panic in his tone and it was unlike him, he wasn't prone to panc, but there were many (unpleasant) possibilities about what might have happened to the queen and Miras, so much struggling for the upper-hand in his head (Jason, Pasiphae, Atlantis) that he couldn't follow any train of thought to conclusion, his thoughts kept skipping. He willed himself to find calm, to find reason, he needed a level head for this new complication.

Hercules stepped around his friend and shuffled toward the bed. "I guess we must wait."

The mathematician gaped and was struck dumb for a moment, blinking his disbelief. "Wait?" he choked. "With Atlantis in peril, Jason a prisoner and Ariadne missing, we should wait?"

"What would you suggest," Hercules enquired with exasperation, his tone indicating that he wasn't really minded to hear suggestions.

Pythagoras fumbled for an answer. The situation tumbled around in his brain and it narrowed down to Jason as the most immediate problem. Ariadne was with Miras, hopefully being protected by him, wherever they were. Pasiphae was an ongoing problem. But Jason was on his own among brutal enemies and his death was a real possibility. Being son to Pasiphae was a double-edged sword, the mother might feel sympathy for her son, want to protect him, or she may recognize the threat he posed, and want him out of the way. The thought chilled him. Jason was so innocent to it, the secret motivations and underlying considerations. It needed to end. He needed to learn the truth about who he was, no matter what the consequence, because he couldn't properly appreciate the danger he was in.

Hercules sat on the edge of the bed, and very quickly progressed from resting to reclining, flicking his feet off the ground and twisting on the mattress, edging his body down and sighing in satisfaction when he was laying with his hands beneath his head.

"You cannot sleep," Pythagoras pronounced curtly.

"I nearly died today," Hercules returned evenly. "I have earned some sleep. Just a few hours. You should sleep too, you won't be good for anything without it."

It was actually solid advice, as much as Pythagoras didn't want to admit it. He slid fingers across his eyelids and felt the weight of the day pressing on him. He ambled to the wooden rectangle of table and sunk onto a chair, dropping his head into his hands. If they had known they would not find Ariadne and Miras awaiting them at the cottage they might have returned immediately to Atlantis to rescue Jason. Now, they had wasted a day.

Where could the queen and Miras be? Could they have been captured by Pasiphae's men? Attacked by bandits? How were they ever going to find them in the expanse of the forest?

It was all too much. Pythagoras wasn't built for such turmoil, for important decisions and far reaching consequences. He was a man of narrow ambition saddled with way too much influence. It made his head ache.

He drew in a long breath through his nose, closed his eyes and cleared his mind of all thought, created a clear palette from which to think. These problems were solvable, all problems were solvable, it just needed level heads and considered thought.

Perhaps one level head. Hercules breathing was deep and even, the sound of a man asleep, and Pythagoras was determined not to begrudge it, told himself that his friend _should_ sleep so that he was at his best when they executed the next part of their plan - whatever that might be. But he felt that prickle of discontent again. Inaction made his joints itch. Already he felt regret for the things they could be doing and weren't.

* * *

_(I see a little silhouette of a man_.)

Bohemian Rhapsody had been going round and round in Jason's head for _hours_. It was a torture of its own. Not that he had anything against Queen. Those guys were fine. But it was driving him to edge of sanity, the same lyrics over and over.

_(Scaramouche, scaramouche will you do the fandango.)_

Without natural light in the cells it was impossible to accurately gauge the passage of time, the only thing he could be guided by was the regularity with which a woman came to refill the oil in the flaming sconce outside his cell_. An oil lady. Huh. That's a job? _He'd been briefly intrigued by her, by who this woman was and what horrors she might have witnessed in the dungeon, a veritable fly on the wall. With too much time to think and too many things he didn't want to think about (what did Pasiphae have in store for him? were he and Ariadne really supposed to be together? just how much was he screwing up his friends' lives? there were a lot of subjects he didn't want to consider too closely) the oil lady offered a welcome, if only momentary, diversion. By the time she came around the fourth time his interest in her had waned, shifted from her to her task. He couldn't remember how long it took for oil to burn, 2-3-4 hours? They used candles at their house so he didn't have much experience with oil. But at best it meant he'd been strung up for over eight hours, at worst, double that. It was a huge variance in the estimate of time and he couldn't figure which end of the spectrum was most likely - time crawled, and he could no longer tell what was ten minutes and what was an hour.

_(I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me.)_

_You got that right Freddie_.

_(He's just a poor boy from a poor family. Spare him his life from this monstrosity_.)

It's like they were singing his song. Perhaps that's why he couldn't get it out his head. The song had been a comfort in the beginning, he'd latched onto it willingly as something to distract him from being hung off the ceiling like a side of beef, something to focus on other than the things he didn't want to think about but he was weary of it now and couldn't push it away. He couldn't think of another song to replace it with, so long since he had heard modern music. Years. He tried to picture his iPod from another life, tried to see what songs were on there so that he could change the tune, but it was almost unimaginable now, that kind of technology. Music in a small box. Pythagoras would look at him like he was unhinged if he tried to describe it, call him a liar. No, Hercules would call him a liar, Pythagoras would try to find a diplomatic way to suggest that he must be mistaken, that it just wasn't possible. And even when he could conjure up the image in his mind, of a rectangular piece of plastic and glass, the screen was frustratingly blank, none of the music he used to listen to was revealed to him. It was gone, the memory of it was gone. Or perhaps he was just trying too hard to find it. What he did know is that he _didn't_ listen to Bohemian Rhapsody.

_(Easy come easy go, will you let me go?)_

_Enough Freddie. Fuck. Give me a break._

Hours and hours, of hanging from the ceiling, of repeated lyrics in his head, of insecurities burrowing under his skin and making too much sense. It was undignified. And tedious. And physically, achingly painful. They were never going to do this. If he ever found himself in a position of power, if he ever managed to waltz Ariadne down the aisle and become king of Atlantis, they were never going to do this, indulge in torture. He resolved that they were going to be better than this. Because it fucking sucked.

He was starting to believe that he had been forgotten. It seemed entirely likely that there had a been a change of guards and no one even knew he was in here anymore. He kept expecting someone to walk past, do a double take and say, _shit buddy, we forgot all about you. Let me get you down_.

It probably wouldn't be quite so Monty Python-esque. And it was doubtful Colcheans would use the word _buddy, _doubtful the word formed part of their vocabulary. But the sentiment remained. There was very little passing traffic, he hadn't seen a guard in – two oil ladies ago, however long that was, quite some time. There was a high degree of disinterest in those imprisoned, zero concern for their wellbeing. If he was to have a heart attack and die he wondered how long it would be before anyone knew.

But for all his black humoured musings he suspected that the continued passive torture wasn't really an accident, wasn't by way of oversight, it was a deliberate attempt to weaken him, to make him compliant. Deprived of food and water, he was also deprived of sleep because when he sagged against the chains holding him upright the metal cuffs dug into his wrists hard enough to draw blood, the skin on both forearms was raw and tender, there was no way he could find comfort enough for sleep.

He wondered how long Pasiphae was going to punish him, keep him trussed and helpless. He wasn't in great shape to start with, it was going to be a pretty short drop to delirious and raving. That was what really worried him. Not so much that this kind of treatment would break him and make him want to spill secrets, that was never going to happen, but that it might send him to a condition where he didn't know what he was saying and unintentionally betray Ariadne. That could definitely happen.

A twitch started in his right shoulder. A bounce underneath the skin. Bounce, bounce, bounce. He expelled a suffering breath. It was not the first time his body had complained about the unnatural position. He rolled his head a little, cracking his neck, feeling every knot, and tried to isolate the grumbling area, tensed and untensed the muscles around the shoulder, and it was like waking a sleeping lion, his whole body started roaring its opposition, sharp deep pain was suddenly everywhere, in his back, running down his side, in his thighs, his calves started to cramp. It was a runaway train. Every part of his body vied to express its displeasure and there was nothing he could do to alleviate it, except gasp and scrunch his face and wish he were somewhere else, and stay absolutely still until everything calmed.

Light footsteps approached and Jason was actually disappointed that it couldn't be a soldier, the steps were too soft, it wasn't somebody coming to get him down. Not that an approaching soldier necessarily meant salvation, but he lived in hope. He lifted his eyes to view the space outside his cell, if only to break the boredom, see who might be passing and when Melas came into sight Jason thought he was hallucinating, or perhaps had drifted into sleep. It was so far fetched that the High Priest would be in the dungeon that Jason lowered his eyes to the gloom of the rock floor, blinked a few times to clear his vision, then lifted his gaze once again. He still saw Melas before him, halted outside his cell.

The priest was nervous, darting glances left and right as he reached into his shroud, retrieved something that Jason couldn't quite make out in the guttering light and started tampering with the lock on the cell door. Neither Jason nor Melas said a word, both of them wary about drawing attention, but loud in Jason's mind was _what is he doing here_? _What's going on?_

When the cell door opened Jason still couldn't figure out what was going on. His mind was sluggish and he studied the man through narrowed eyes, trying to draw clues from his actions and demeanor about his intentions. Even though the priest's furtiveness and apprehension seemed to indicate a rescue, he didn't want to draw that conclusion too quickly in case he was disappointed, in case a visit from a priest was just part of being imprisoned.

"The Oracle sent me to get you out," Melas advised in a low voice. He rested a hand against Jason's chest for a moment, warmth in his usually dour face, reassurance in his touch.

Jason marvelled at the man's loyalty to the Oracle, his willingness to follow her instructions even in a folly such as this. It was extraordinary.

"How did you get past the guards?" Jason asked in confusion.

"Secret passage."

Jason blinked twice. His brain ticked at half speed, fatigue battering his wits. "Secret passage?"

The dungeon was hewn from rock, it wasn't an ordinary construction, it had been dug out of the side of a hill, dirt and stone chipped away to create roughly shaped cells and passageways. To include a secret passage must have taken a lot of effort. And kind of a ridiculous effort, how often did anyone need to secretly enter or leave the _dungeon? _But it was in keeping with the city, there were secrets all over the place, and he wasn't going to complain about this one.

The priest merely nodded, not inclined to explain further. He was blessedly tall, no trouble reaching the metal bonds above Jason's head, agile fingers tinkering with the cuffs at his wrists. With a flash of clarity Jason realized that being suddenly free of the restraints was going to be unpleasant. After being held so long in an unnatural position, changing that position was going to be really painful.

"This isn't going to be pretty," Jason grimaced, talking into Melas' chin, the man's face upturned to the ceiling.

Without dropping his eyes or hesitating in his task the priest replied, "Nothing in the dungeon is."

When the cuffs at Jason's wrists burst open he collapsed like a discarded marionette, heavy and graceless and without any control. Melas had a quick arm around his torso so that he didn't hit the ground, but it made no real difference to Jason, to the level of pain he experienced. He was momentarily lost in the agony of movement, spiking, searing pain was everywhere, not one part of him was immune. He hung limply in the priest's arms with his eyes squeezed shut riding the waves of suffering. Now that he _could_ move it was the last thing Jason wanted to do, he concentrated all his effort on staying very very still, letting his body adjust and find normal.

Melas gently lay Jason on the dirt floor. If he thought they were going to make a quick escape the idea was being reassessed, they weren't going anywhere in a hurry. Melas patted Jason's cheek, encouraging him to open his eyes but Jason couldn't bear to do it yet, keeping them shut felt like it might help. The sound of his harsh ragged breathing and unintended groans was loud in the echoing space, Jason feared it was going to give them away.

"Jason."

Melas' voice was hissed and insistent and Jason figured he owed it to the priest to pull himself together. If he had his way he would probably lay on the ground for a while longer, wait for the needles of pain to retreat, wait until feeling returned to his limbs, gather some strength, but he couldn't leave Melas hanging, he didn't want the man to be caught because Jason couldn't get up off the floor. The priest had risked a lot to find him and Jason knew he had a role to play in this rescue attempt.

He opened bleary, stinging eyes and palmed his hands against the earth, pushing himself feebly upward. He was immediately reminded that he was carrying an injury, the flare in his chest made him hiss and take the weight off his left hand, pull it in close to his side. The priest wrapped an arm around his midriff to lift, his forearm pressed against Jason's ribs, trying to be helpful, but they were attempting too much too soon and it was a ballet of scrabbling feet and uncoordinated movements, until Jason was standing with an arm wound around the priest's neck and feeling really self conscious about it because he was pretty sure these guys were supposed to be untouchable and he was breaking cultural conventions with the physical closeness.

It was unbelievable how terrible he was feeling. Laughable. A confluence of injury, abuse, neglect and exhaustion, and he figured he would look back on this moment in time and say _that is easily the worst I have ever felt_. It was setting a new standard. It seemed impossible that it could be topped.

Melas shuffled them out of the cell and Jason was little more than a passenger, bent out of shape, trying to work his clueless feet. They stumbled in the direction away from the exit, past empty cavernous cells, reaching a junction in the corridor where the path split into two. It was behind them that the secret passage was hidden. Melas pressed a mechanism that made part of the rock fold inward, only a small crevice, enough to shimmy through sideways and they plunged into the blackness without pause. Jason let himself be guided. He couldn't see a thing and trusted the priest to know what he was doing. He could hear the swish of fingertips against the stone wall, Melas feeling his way.

_Let this be over_, Jason was thinking. He was trying to be stoic, swallowing his moans, keeping his feet trained forward, but he was embarrassed by his heaviness, pulling against Melas, unable to summon the strength to stay upright. He wanted to stop for a while. He craved a quiet spot where he could crumple to the ground and close his eyes. Get some sleep. Lose himself. But he didn't ask it because the priest moved with purpose, hurried and determined, and if Jason lay down he wouldn't get up for some time, so he gritted his teeth to keep going, yearning to reach the destination.

They ended up in the temple. Apparently all (secret) roads led to the temple. It was bright, braziers of fire were everywhere, and Jason had to squint, his eyes were set to gloom. There was still no natural light, he had no idea what time of day it was, but from the echoing quiet he assumed it was some time in the night.

Jason hadn't appreciated how big the temple was. The place was bloody huge and he cursed it as they kept moving, so much moving, until they reached the inner sanctum and the Oracle's chambers.

The woman was waiting for them, robed in purple silk, her hands clasped anxiously at her chest as they entered. Her face broke into a wide smile when she saw them. "Thank the Gods," she breathed. "Did all go well?"

Melas deposited Jason on a low wooden stool and stood behind with his hands resting lightly on Jason's shoulders, which was smart because Jason was not feeling very steady and there was a lot of scope to fall off.

"It went as you said," Melas replied.

The oracle approached Jason on light feet and knelt before him, looked into his face intently and brushed curls from his forehead, maternal in her concern. "Not a moment too soon," she commiserated, eyes shining with relief and worry, gaze lingering on the dried blood staining the shirt at his chest.

"I am most grateful," he returned sincerely and wanted to say more, wanted to ask questions, but was too tired and groggy to make the effort.

"I could not allow you to remain in Pasiphae's clutches," the oracle said. "You are too important. The city needs you alive and well."

Jason winced and gave her a small, brittle smile. It bothered him when she said things like that, even if it was supposed to be a compliment. He felt it like a pressure, felt the weight of expectation and didn't feel worthy of it, especially at a time like this, when he was clearly frail and incapable.

The woman flicked a glance to Melas, gained her feet, retrieved a cup filled with liquid from a nearby table and proffered it to Jason.

"You need to drink," she said in a soft caring voice, and he accepted the cup gratefully without knowing if it contained wine or water, so parched he could have drunk four times as much. It was something with a citrus infusion that soothed his throat, and every part of him that it glided past.

"Thank you," Jason said and hoped she knew it was for more than just for the water. The woman smiled at him fondly, held his gaze for a moment, then plucked the cup from his yielding fingers and returned it to the table-top.

"They're going to know it was you," Jason said somberly, abruptly certain of it, that there was no one else in the city with the desire or wherewithal to secure his freedom and Pasiphae would reach that conclusion swiftly.

"They will suspect," the oracle admitted, but seemed unconcerned by it, small smile at her lips, enjoying the defiance. "But to take any action against me would be to offend the Gods. Pasiphae cannot risk it when her position is so tenuous."

Jason wasn't so sure but argument slipped away as his thoughts clouded into cotton wool, his mind became suddenly hazy and dull. He shook his head lightly to try and shift the settling fog. His bones felt weighty, pulling on him, pulling him down. He breathed a groan and dropped his head to his chest. He couldn't seem to fight against it, the heaviness that was upon him, that was everywhere. At first he thought it was some kind of collapse, a hard day and this was the result. But it felt wrong. Too sudden and overwhelming.

He tried to lift his head to lay accusing eyes on the Oracle, to ask _What was in that drink?_ He was incensed at the idea that she may have slipped him something, but couldn't definitely reach that conclusion. He couldn't quite comprehend what was happening.

The hands on his shoulders tightened as Jason slumped forward and slipped into blackness.

* * *

A/N: Boy, this story just keeps going, sorry about that. Let me know if you're still reading because I get the feeling, now that the show has finished, that interest has waned.


	13. Chapter 13

Okay, this story is getting near its end. I think there will be only one chapter after this.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

"Where is Jason?"

A hand rested against Pythagoras' back and the words were vague and unclear as he startled into awareness, his stomach lurching with guilt at having slipped from thinking to sleeping in a quick one two, leaving them unguarded. He jerked his head up, off the pillow of his arms and blinked rapidly.

"Where is Jason?"

Pythagoras twisted his head and expelled a hard, relieved breath at the sight of Ariadne, looking healthy and well, if somewhat tousled, tendrils of hair falling disobediently about her face.

"Your majesty! Thank the Gods. Where have you been? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she returned curtly. "We-" she shook her impatiently, "made a foolish decision, I will explain later. I cannot see Jason, where is he?"

It registered that the queen had already asked after Jason, Pythagoras had been too dazed and dopey to really hear. He darted his eyes about the room, stalling for an explanation, not feeling prepared to discuss their ordeal straight from sleep. The words _Jason is a prisoner_ lodged in his throat, refusing to topple out.

Hercules still slept on the bed, his features lax and heavy, undisturbed by the arrival of the Queen. The man could sleep through the end of the world, even when he wasn't filled with wine, and the mathematician thinned his lips, aggravated that it was left solely to him to break bad news.

"Jason – Jason is –" Pythagoras' mind whirred, seeking the least alarming way to advise the queen that her betrothed was a prisoner of the Colcheans. "We were ambushed by a Colchean patrol."

The queen's brows flew up in fear as she drew in a quick breath and Pythagoras realized he had failed miserably to prevent alarm. He had no choice but to plunge on quickly with the rest of the story, which he did, but it was a botched attempt, Pythagoras could tell by the warring of anxiety and confusion in Ariadne's eyes that his explanation was too succinct, too hasty, and he rolled over in his mind where he needed to add detail.

Before he could do so, Ariadne lifted a hand, knitting her heavy brows, getting things straight in her head. "You were ambushed by a Colchean patrol?" Pythagoras nodded. "Hercules received an arrow in the back?" Another nod. "And in return for Medea healing Hercules, Jason accompanied her to Atlantis? As a prisoner?"

"Yes," Pythagoras exhaled, relieved that the queen had made sense of his garbled explanation.

Ariadne's gaze became distant, her lips parted and she lifted a trembling hand to her head, fingers splaying through the dark hair. Pythagoras flicked his gaze to the bed, wishing Hercules would wake and join the conversation, offer some supportive encouraging words. The queen's whole bearing sagged and the silence pressed heavily on him.

"Did Medea heal Jason's wound?" Ariadne asked, her voice dull.

Pythagoras shook his head, but then had to reply verbally because Ariadne was not looking in his direction. "No. Not that I saw."

The queen jerked a shallow nod, her jaw tight. "He will not survive being a prisoner," she whispered, anguish in her dark eyes. "Not in the condition he was in."

Pythagoras dropped his focus to the ground and couldn't bring himself to offer false hope, remembering how Jason had looked as he walked away with Medea, at his physical limit, on the verge of collapse. "We must hope that he will," he replied, his own doubts making the words unconvincing.

Ariadne's breath hitched and she reached out a hand to clutch at the bedpost, pressing the fingers of her other hand roughly against her eyes. "It is what I feared most," she breathed. "I knew it would happen. I knew he would come to harm. We should have stayed together."

_Ariadne made me promise not to make her a widow ..._

"And then you too would have been attacked by Colcheans," Pythagoras submitted by way of disagreement. He swallowed and felt obliged to offer some sort of optimism. After all, Jason wasn't dead. As far as they knew. "All is not lost. Jason has not long been a prisoner, we should not yet fear the worst. And Medea seems fond of him, she may be able to keep him alive."

Ariadne's head whipped around, she glared at him sharply, moist eyes flashing with anger.

"Although he is not so fond of her," Pythagoras backpedalled, pressing his lips together and awkwardly shifting his gaze.

Miras entered the cottage with an armload of supplies, food mostly, that he deposited on the table. Shafts of moonlight glimmered through the open door and Pythagoras noticed a number of candles had been lit and placed about the cottage to illuminate the space. He felt a twinge of remorse for his unkind thoughts about Hercules slumbering through the arrival of the queen when apparently he had done similarly, completely oblivious to the activity around him that had made the building habitable.

With eyes to Ariadne the soldier said, "I don't think we can do anything for the horse. It would be most merciful to put him down."

The queen gave a sharp, distracted nod.

"What happened to the horse?" Pythagoras asked, keen to change the topic.

"He is lame. The journey to the village was too much," the soldier returned. At the blond man's uncomprehending stare Miras darted eyes to the queen and back. "Did my lady not explain?"

"No." Pythagoras replied. "We have not yet discussed your whereabouts. Although we were certainly concerned."

Miras squinted at the queen, aware that she was upset but unable to guess the cause. "We journeyed to a nearby village for supplies," he answered with brows drawn down. "We intended to be back before you arrived but the uneven ground was too much for the horse. And perhaps we pushed him a little hard in our haste."

Pythagoras felt sorry that such good intentions had gone awry. It was a considerate gesture, a noble effort on their part, to supply a repast for their arrival of more than what could be scrounged from the immediate area. When he glanced at the queen he realized her outfit had changed. It had been nagging at him that something about her was different and now it clicked, she was no longer wearing Darrick's voluminous tunic, it had been replaced by a dress that fell to her knees, square at the neck and cinched at the waist by a narrow leather belt. The material was rough and undyed, cheap and common, but on Ariadne it looked feminine and elegant.

Pythagoras shook his head lightly. "Where did you find the money?"

"I sold my bracelet," Ariadne replied, swiping her eyes, her face hardened into composure.

The mathematician was horrified. The queen's jewelry could only be exquisite, and expensive, he doubted she would have obtained near its value.

Miras' gaze raked the small space. "Where is Jason?"

Pythagoras drew in a breath. Apparently there was no avoiding the subject. "We need to discuss that."

It was time for Hercules to wake, he decided. Enough of single handedly facing difficult questions. He took swift steps to the bed and with a hand to his friend's chest, shook him vigorously. "Hercules. Wake up. The queen is here."

"Hmm?" Hercules floated to the surface, yawning and rubbing his eyes, sitting up with little performance, immediately serious as he took in the queen's tense face. "You've told them then," he said by way of aside to Pythagoras.

"I have told the queen," Pythagoras clarified and the men shared a somber look as Hercules inclined his head.

"Your Majesty I am sorry," the big man offered hastily, diving into the unpleasant conversation, keen to dispose of it. "It is all my fault. Jason sacrificed himself to save my life. He would not be a prisoner if not for me. He bears no responsibility for the predicament in which he now finds himself."

"But he is not dead," Pythagoras interjected, trying to make amends for being of little comfort before.

Hercules frowned and shot his friend an irritated stare. "Of course he is not dead. Why would you suggest such a thing?"

"I would _not_ suggest such a thing," Pythagoras returned. "Even if it might possibly be true I would never suggest that Jason is dead." He frowned, aware that what he had intended to be encouraging might in fact have been the opposite.

The big man angled his brows sharply and shot the blonde a meaningful _what is wrong with you_ glare.

"Jason has been captured?" Miras asked grimly.

Hercules jiggered his head. "In a manner of speaking. He is a prisoner of the Colcheans and back in Atlantis."

Miras rubbed fingers against his mouth and paced away a few steps, serious and thoughtful. "That is the worst possible news."

"We must rescue him," Pythagoras stated, and figured he was saying what they were all thinking, that it was the logical conclusion and was surprised when Ariadne said, "No."

All eyes turned to the queen, questioning bewilderment on the face of each man. "We cannot foray twice into the city," Ariadne said evenly. "We must come up with a plan to depose Pasiphae, and rescue Jason in the process."

Silence descended. An uneasy, unsettled quiet. Hercules kept flicking his gaze to Pythagoras and the mathematician wasn't sure what it meant, what he was trying to convey. It was difficult, not being able to talk freely, privately.

"My thoughts must extend beyond one man," Ariadne continued rationally, dispassionately. "I have thousands of people relying on me to free them from the tyranny of Pasiphae. I cannot be satisfied with rescuing only Jason, we must rescue every citizen."

Pythagoras gulped and uncomfortbly averted his gaze. He understood the sentiment, and was sympathetic to it but wasn't entirely aligned with Ariadne's point of view. Expanding the scope of their return to the city was going to take much more time, much more planning, and he didn't think they had the luxury. He didn't think Jason had the luxury.

"I can think of one way to retake the city," Miras said hesitantly. Ariadne regarded him with round hopeful eyes. "We get the Atlantis army to rise up and fight the invaders."

"How might we go about it?" the queen probed.

Miras pressed his lips and with a rueful flick of his brows said, "Jason would have been best at inspiring men to fight. But I know some senior men in the army. If we can mobilise enough soldiers to attack we could take the Colcheans by surprise and overpower them."

Pythagoras was dubious. Not so much about the possibility of success, the Atlantis army had defeated the Colcheans once, they could do so again, but at the scale of the plan. The army were probably scattered now that Pasiphae was in control. Stood down, and no doubt keeping their heads low so as not to draw attention. They might possibly have been imprisoned or executed for just this reason, to avoid them rising, Pasiphae was ruthless enough to foresee and prevent such a danger.

But Pythagoras was not about the voice his doubts. The quicker they returned to Atlantis the closer they got to rescuing Jason and he considered it unavoidable that whatever plan they arrived at would have to be amended on the hop, once the conditions inside Atlantis became clear.

"We could take the palace using the secret passage," Hercules added, climbing off the bed and moving to sit at the table, Pythagoras following to sit beside him. "Enter through the temple."

"And enter the city through the tunnels," Pythagoras speculated, glancing around absently for parchment to write on, to keep track of their thoughts, but finding none. "The Colcheans will be guarding against people leaving, not people entering, I have a feeling we could walk right in."

The mood in the room started to shift, from despair to muted, cautious hope. The absence of Jason still pressed heavily on the group, his input into forming a plan would have been invaluable, and his fighting skills, even when injured, were an irreplaceable asset. As they discussed how they might go about retaking the city Pythagoras almost felt like there was a ghost of Jason in the room, his name was deliberately unsaid but he suspected was in all their thoughts. He was such an integral part of their group, and so effortlessly competent in attack, it was strange planning a dangerous foray in which he didn't play a part.

The mathematician chewed on his lip and forced himself to focus. He had to put thoughts of Jason aside for the moment, concentrate on and become engaged in developing a viable plan to defeat Pasiphae. Jason would endure, he always did, and he had to believe it would hold true this time, but if they were to have any chance of rescuing him the devil was in the detail, and that was Pythagoras' forte.

* * *

Jason flirted with wakefulness a couple of times. His eyes opened to a cloying darkness, a confounding blackness in which his breathing was loud, harsh, echoing strangely in his ears. A pillow was under his head, a blanket pulled up to his shoulders and he was hot, _hot,_ sweat pooling in the crook of his elbows, trickling down his spine, uncomfortable and irritating but he lacked the energy or sense to do anything to about it. Confused and too drained to even think about moving, he was aware enough to know that he had woken but not aware enough to want to stay that way and willingly let himself sink into sleep again.

The pattern broke when Jason opened his eyes and felt – _ready_. Ready for more. It was like an internal timer had gone off. The heavy, overpowering weariness wasn't so heavy anymore, the heat that had sapped his energy had subsided. He could think. He could breathe. He felt refreshed. The build up of weakness and exhaustion that the last few days had wrought was cleared and he felt better. Ready to move, ready to be useful.

He pinched a thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose to force away the lingering drowsiness, cleared the grit from his eyes and tried to make sense of his current situation. Blackness surrounded him. Even after a few minutes of allowing his eyes to adjust he could see nothing, which was unsettling. He had no idea where he was, he couldn't even begin to guess. There was absolute silence, no clues there.

He reached his hands either side to feel if he was raised off the ground, in a bed, and rapped the knuckles of his left hand hard against a close, uneven wall, the right hand skimming over rough bedding and then dirt, he was lying on the ground. He carefully pushed himself up, wary of the way his battered body would react, gritting his teeth against the flares of pain that could come from anywhere and was pleasantly surprised when his body shifted without complaint. That was a welcome development. And a little disconcerting, to go from feeling abysmal to feeling fine, cutting through the middle ground.

Sitting cross legged, he pressed a hand against the knife wound in his shoulder and felt a fresh bandage covering it, a wrap high around his chest. A second later he realized that he was no longer wearing a shirt, and it caused him to blush a little, the thought of the Oracle removing his tunic, ministering to him while he was unconscious, that was kind of embarrassing.

Gingerly, Jason lifted his left arm, testing the movement. He raised the hand above his head, inching it higher and higher, and felt a mild ache, a twinge from the wound, which was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the sharp slicing pain he had been dealing with for the past few days. He chuffed a wry, disbelieving laugh at being almost completely healed and slumped a little in relief. After days of feeling woeful and inadequate, trying to appear capable, trying to _be_ capable when he was a physical calamity, it felt so good to be well, himself again. He sent silent thanks to the Oracle for whatever she had done, in no doubt that her intervention had expedited his healing. Although he wasn't thrilled about being knocked out, drugged or whatever, that was a bit presumptuous. But he could forgive her for anything right now, not just for the improvement in the wound but because he felt energized, strong, her tonic had completely transformed him. Pythagoras really needed to learn about these potent tonics, they were amazing.

Using the wall for guidance Jason gained his feet. As good as blind he decided to follow the wall and see where it took him. As he made slow progress it occurred to him where he might be. He halted, stretched his left arm until it was just the fingertips brushing the rock, stretched his right arm out beside him and took a side step. Sure enough it was now the fingertips of his right hand brushing against rock. He was in a tunnel. And he was willing to bet it was the secret passage out of the dungeon that he and Melas had used in their escape. He'd never heard of that passageway before, good chance only the Oracle knew it existed, and a place that Pasiphae would never find him. He smiled to himself at how canny the Oracle was.

After a few minutes walking, one hand on the wall the other stretched in front so as not to run into anything, Jason reached a dead end, fingers jamming against rock. There had to be a mechanism to get out but he had no idea what to look for. He wished now that he had paid more attention when Melas had taken him this route. Fingers crabbed across the wall, pushing and pulling at every piece of jutting rock. The complete darkness began to aggravate him because he couldn't gauge which parts of the wall he had probed and which he might have missed, he had to be methodical (slow) in his tactile examination from high to low, left to right.

Finally he hit upon it, a metal lever that he pulled on and heard a click, a latch releasing. He cautiously pushed on the rock, uncertain about which end of the tunnel he was at, if he was about to enter the temple or the dungeon. The light that filtered into the tunnel was dim, it caused little strain on his virgin eyes and very quickly he deduced that he was in the temple, from the small breach he could see tiles on the ground, not the unfinished dirt of the dungeon.

With more confidence he nudged the opening wider, scanned the vicinity and found no one nearby. The temple was only lightly used, for the benefit of royalty rather than the populace, it was not uncommon for it to be empty. As he slipped through the corridors Jason was self-conscious about being only half dressed, it was a place of worship and he felt sacrilegious, disrespectful, being partially attired.

The path to the oracle's chambers was well worn, his bare feet were noiseless as he passed across the tiled floor, wary in his pace, especially when he had to turn a corner. He didn't want to be detected by Colcheans primarily, but more than that preferred not to be seen by anyone, not even the priests who inhabited the temple. Only once did he have to press himself into the shadows to allow a young serious man to go by without noticing him. Lucky for him priests weren't very astute, they did not anticipate lurking intruders.

At the entrance to the Oracle's chambers he tipped his head cautiously into the room, making certain she was alone before showing himself. On her knees she was hunched over a low altar, up to her wrists in animal blood, offering a sacrifice or trying to interpret a sign, Jason wasn't sure. Her back was to him and she seemed quite intent on her task, he pondered if he should wait for her to finish. And then he thought perhaps he should just leave. He had made his way to her chamber automatically, without any compelling reason, perhaps he should just leave the city and meet up with his friends. There was no specific need for him to see the Oracle, speak with her.

As he stood prevaricating in the shadows the Oracle said, "I have been waiting for you to emerge."

He wondered how she did that. Sensed him. It decided his course, he made his way fluidly down the staircase toward her, still revelling in the ease with which he could move, bounce in his step.

"It wasn't easy," Jason lightly chided. "You might have left me a torch, I couldn't see anything in that tunnel."

She reached for a cloth on the ground and used it to swipe away the blood on her hands. "You appear to have managed well without it," the woman replied unapologetically but with light humour. She gained her feet, turned to view him and her face relaxed into a gentle smile.

"You look much better," she said approvingly. "You were grey when I last saw you. I have never seen a man so unwell and still with his eyes open."

"Barely." Jason ducked his head as colour climbed his cheeks, abashed that he had presented so poorly. "It has been a difficult few days."

He chuckled at the understatement. The last few days had been possibly the worst of his life. And suddenly it occurred to him that things had actually turned out better than they might have. If he had remained with his friends he would still be struggling with the knife wound, weeks away from being healed, reliant upon only his willpower to recover his health. Returning to Atlantis had unexpectedly worked in his favour.

"I appreciate your intervention," he added sincerely, fluttering his fingers near his injured shoulder. "Thank you."

The woman dipped her gaze, serious as she searched for the next words. "I apologize for being heavy handed," she said slowly. "I knew the effect the tonic would have, that it would incapacitate you. You deserve better than to be deceived, and I do not wish to create mistrust between us. But if I had been honest about the effects of the tonic I did not believe you would accept it willingly."

A wrinkle of confusion appeared between Jason's eyes. "Why did you think that? I'm very grateful for whatever it was you gave me. I am as good as healed."

"Yes, the tonic is very effective." The oracle hesitated, started to absently swipe at the blood on her hands with the cloth again. "But I did not believe you would submit to the time it would take for the potion to run its course."

A cold wash slid down Jason's spine. "How much time?"

"Two days," she returned, stilling her restless hands and meeting his eyes. "You have been asleep for two days."

"Two days?" Jason breathed, the air leaving him. He thrust a hand out to flatten against the wall, feeling abruptly unbalanced and in need of support.

_Two days!_ His thoughts went immediately to Ariadne and his friends, to what might have become of them. Anything could have happened in two days.

"Queen Ariadne still lives," the oracle offered, as if reading his thoughts.

Jason latched onto the pronouncement, not caring to discern whether it was something she knew as fact, or something she merely believed.

"Is she okay? Has any harm come to her? Has she evaded capture?"

"You ask more than the Gods have shown me," the woman returned. "I can tell you that Queen Ariadne lives, Pasiphae has not captured her."

Jason furrowed his brow, dissatisfied with the paltry information. Ariadne being alive didn't mean she was unhurt. And not being captured by Pasiphae didn't mean another hadn't captured her. He swallowed his discontent, trying to find comfort in the news that his fiancee was alive. "And what of my friends? Hercules and Pythagoras."

"The Gods have not shown me their fate."

A disgusted breath escaped him. All the goodwill he had been feeling toward the Oracle was instantly eradicated. She was right, he wouldn't have agreed to a remedy that would knock him out for two days. Things were happening. The people he cared about most were in peril. And he had lost time that might have been used productively.

"I must return to them," Jason said decisively. "I need to help them."

"No. You must remain in Atlantis." She tilted her head slightly, her eyes got distant, as if listening, then she gave a bare nod and Jason wondered how the _communicating__ with the Gods_ thing worked because he had seen entrails and herbs and spells and drinking of potion and a myriad of ways to find divine instruction, but sometimes it was like the Gods were whispering directly in her ear. "You must not leave. There will be a sign shortly about how to proceed. You must be here to receive it."

He winced at the vagueness. _A sign_. _Shortly._ What did that mean?

He wanted very much to disobey.

"Perhaps I will find my friends first, make sure they are alright, and then return for the sign," he suggested hopefully.

"No," she returned immediately, even voiced. "You must remain here. Or all will be lost."

Jason clicked his tongue, annoyed by the dramatics. He didn't _have_ to stay. Now that he had his strength back he could easily slip out of the city, the Oracle couldn't stop him. No-one could. And he wanted to, he burned with a desire to find Ariadne and his friends, help them, protect them, just be amongst them. Being on his own felt incomplete, he was a bit lost without them nearby, disconnected and purposeless.

He wondered if he should admit that to the Oracle. Tell her that he was rubbish as a solo, that he could serve the city much better when he was with his friends. His lips parted in preparation, argument built in his throat but he couldn't utter the words, couldn't bring himself to dissent from her instruction. He felt indebted to her. She had helped him so much, now and in the past, she had guided and encouraged him and been a staunch ally. If she required him to stay, then he felt obliged to stay. Although not without misgiving. He hoped the _sign_ came quickly, because delay would test his resolve, he didn't know how long he could wait idly by.

Wordlessly, stiffly, he nodded his compliance. "Perhaps you could find a shirt for me to wear."

She inclined her head as her composure loosened a little, she exhaled her relief and Jason was heartened that apparently he still had some free will, not everything was pre-destined, she had been concerned he might not stay.

* * *

**A/N:** Originally I had the Oracle hide Jason in an empty sarcophagus in the crypt and when he woke up he thought he had been buried alive. In the end I couldn't do it to him, it just seemed too cruel.


	14. Chapter 14

So, it was a bit ambitious to think I could wrap up the story in this chapter. But it's getting close!

* * *

**Chapter 14**

It was a somber and subdued return journey to Atlantis, very little conversation, very little enthusiasm. It felt to Hercules like a funeral procession, like someone had died and they were all in mourning. And pray to the Gods that were not the case. If Jason had not survived the three days since they had parted company Hercules wasn't sure he could live with himself. It didn't bear thinking about and he squelched every whisper in his mind that dared to suggest it.

But thoughts of Jason wasn't what lowered the mood of the group, not entirely anyway. It was their destination, their intentions, it weighed heavily on them all. The more they had discussed details for retaking the city and deposing Pasiphae; talking, debating, scheming well into the night in the comfort of the cottage with a well stocked table; the more unpleasantly apparent it had become that the ambition was nigh on impossible. There were too many complications, too many contingencies, too many things outside of their control that could bring the plans undone. They had hashed it out fully. Hercules had been unfettered in his opinions and arguments, their lives were at stake and he wasn't willing to leave anything unsaid for reasons of propriety, for fear it might anger the queen. Fighting as one of four, an integral part of the mission's success or failure, he felt entitled to speak his mind, and had done so. It gave him some satisfaction that he had laid everything on the table, been bluntly honest about his doubts and where he considered their weaknesses.

In the end, when conversation had petered out, every permutation of the plan given voice, they had looked at each other with weary, grim faces, with knowing despair, the odds stacked against them, and made a vow to return to the city anyway. The alternative was to make their way to a nearby kingdom and plead for assistance, plead for an army to fight against Pasiphae and none of them wanted to do that. What kingdom would help a queen less than a year on the throne against a queen who had ruled for decades? Their position was hopeless. And they didn't have time for pleasantries and courtesies, for wooing support. That could take weeks, months. They couldn't expect their neighbours to have the same urgency about reclaiming Atlantis as they did. Which gave them no choice but to return to the city, and try to encourage the Atlantean army to rise against the invaders. It was the first idea that had been presented and no idea more compelling had been raised.

Hercules consoled himself with the idea of rescuing Jason. They may not be able to overthrow Pasiphae, but they could at least rescue Jason. It went a long way toward balming his fears about entering the city. The overall mission may be unachievable but there remained a nugget of hope for a more modest ambition. He had argued for rescuing Jason first, before they made an attempt on Pasiphae, so that if the mission failed, Jason might still live. He gained ready assent from his companions, despite the new dangers it contrived, the new complexities that would need to be considered but then conversation had stalled uncomfortably on the details of how to go about it. Pythagoras had quietly raised the possibility that Jason may be in no condition to facilitate his escape, that he may be incapacitated or unconscious when (if) they found him, and Hercules had blustered that he would carry his friend, Ariadne's eyes had filled with tears and they had quickly shifted the topic to other things. It seemed to be unspokenly agreed that they would deal with the complications of rescuing Jason at the appropriate time.

After a full day of walking, with minimal breaks to eat and rest, they reached the outskirts of the forest, and found a spot where they could see Atlantis through the gaps in the trees. It was already dark, night had fallen a few hours before, but they wanted it darker before they attempted to infiltrate the beleaguered city. It was an opportunity for a few hours sleep and Hercules took it willingly, content to leave their safety to Miras. He still had a niggling dislike for the man and he suspected it would always remain, that their relationship would be one of taciturn civility, but Miras had delivered the queen safely, kept her close at all times from the little they divulged of their movements, and Hercules gave him grudging respect for that, for his honest endeavor to protect the regent.

Pythagoras shook him awake in what felt like only moments. Hercules was never a swift waker, he never snapped awake, there was always confusion and dazedness before he gained his senses. Pythagoras was patient with it, waited a few moments before quietly pronouncing, "We are ready to leave."

The big man felt a flicker of fear. Even though he knew it was coming, that they were all committed to liberating Atlantis, the thought of the danger they were about to face dropped like a weight deep inside, and made his heart beat a little faster. He wasn't a hero. For all his big talk and wild stories of amazing deeds, he didn't have the heart of a hero, and it seemed strange that he should be involved in a venture so bold and so important. And that he was doing it without Jason. It was completely different traipsing after Jason into danger, he endured that with irritated obligation, as a responsibility of friendship. This was a voluntary assumption of risk. This was a knowing and considered foray into peril, a plan in which he played a lead role not a support and it sat awkwardly on his shoulders.

He felt suddenly inadequate, and muttered some encouraging words to bolster his confidence. "You can do this. This is important. Don't lose your nerve."

"What did you say?" Pythagoras asked.

"Nothing. Let's go."

Through the inky blackness the group of four trotted hastily across the plain that separated the woods from Atlantis. Even though they carried no torches, nothing to light their way, there was still danger of being visible by moonlight, they were exposed for an extended period with nothing to conceal them, the plain was barren of trees. In this they confronted their first obstacle. If there was a keen watchman standing at the gate or along the defensive parapet their plan could fail before they even reached the city.

They were all breathing heavily when the imposing city walls towered above them, protecting them in shadow from the moonlight. They took a few moments to recover themselves, regain their breath, swallow some water and listen closely for any sound that might bode badly. Hercules sagged in relief at the complete quiet, never before had he been so grateful for silence, and mumbled to himself _first obstacle overcome_.

The big man led the way toward the opening where the sewer discharged, a breach in the wall that they hoped would be unattended. He moved in such close proximity to the wall that he kept brushing his arm against the rough stone and grazing his skin. He expelled a tightly held breath when he discovered the opening was clear, free of soldiers and even better, the grate that usually barred the entrance had been removed by Pasiphae's force and not yet replaced, they could simply walk inside. It felt like a sign from the Gods, it buoyed the burly man immensely. With two obstacles easily overcome it felt like maybe their scheme wasn't impossible, maybe they had been overthinking when they had considered all the different ways the plan might be thwarted.

The sewer was a maze of tunnels that ran under the whole city, not quite tall enough for them to stand erect. They wound their way through at an uncomfortable hunch, with no real knowledge of where they were heading or where they might end up. There was a vague notion that they should head north, in the direction of the palace, but in the darkness it became impossible to gauge where they were or get their bearings. Hercules gritted his teeth against the stench and felt the urge to apologize profusely to Ariadne for subjecting her to such an indignity. When the odor threatened to overwhelm him, bile started to burn hot in the back of his throat, he quietly suggested that perhaps they should climb into the street through the nearest grated manhole and received immediate murmured agreement from his companions.

It was another test of their plan, removing the grating without noise, and without being observed. Hercules wound his fingers around the metal bars and had to duck his head awkwardly to his chest due to the lack of height, but could use the girth between his shoulders to press against the grate and exert some force. He didn't even want to think about what the grate might be covered in, what was now coating his hands and the back of his shirt. It made him feel momentarily nauseous.

The grate came loose with ease. When Hercules felt it give way he froze, listening for noise, the sound of anyone in the vicinity, then inched his head up through the breach. A hasty survey of the area revealed no one in sight and with a burst of athleticism the big man placed the heavy grate to the side of the hole and pushed himself up and into the street.

"All clear," he whispered hoarsely, and surveyed the area again, making sure of it.

Araidne emerged from the opening and Hercules reluctantly offered his hand to assist, feeling obliged to be courteous but disgusted by what he might be transferring with his grip. It was an awfully limp wristed clasp that he offered and he hoped she understood why.

Pythagoras and Miras followed briskly through the opening and as much as Hercules wanted to be done with the sewers, he had to replace the grate so as not to alert suspicion. While his companions hurried to edge of the thoroughfare, concealing themselves in shadow, Hercules shifted the grate back into position then hovered his fingers above his trousers, considering whether to wipe them across the material and did so with a sudden decisiveness that he immediately regretted. He felt an overwhelming urge to visit the baths and scrub himself clean.

"We part company here," Miras announced in a low voice as Hercules sidled up to the group. "I will inspire as many men as possible to rise against the Colcheans when next the shadow is least. Pray that it will be more than just me when the time comes."

Ariadne rested her hand gently against the man's forearm. "No matter what happens you will be honored and remembered. I could ask for no more loyal servant. May the Gods be with you."

Hercules felt a prickle at the nape of his neck. This was the point of no return. Once they separated there was no turning back, they would have to go through with their improbable plan. Instinctively his hand shot out and wrapped around Miras' wrist, restraining him. His inner voice was crying _wait, wait wait, are we sure about this_? It was the last opportunity to reconsider and call it quits.

Miras regarded him with a questioning gaze, with eyes that leaked fear and uncertainty and Hercules realized that Miras had little confidence in their success, but there was a granite set to his jaw, a determination to proceed despite his doubts, and it braced Hercules. It made him feel better knowing that he wasn't the only one awash in misgiving. It gave him a fatalistic courage that they were all going to do this thing, attempt to overthrow Pasiphae, free Atlantis, or possibly die trying. He felt suddenly noble and righteous.

"May the Gods be with you," Hercules offered earnestly, and Miras gave him a taut nod. "And with you," the ex-soldier returned.

The hand slipped from Miras's wrist and he crept away into the darkness, very quickly out of sight as he sought concealment behind objects and in shadows.

"To the Temple," Hercules stated, filling the gloomy silence by prefacing their next move.

"To freedom," Pythagoras returned, and it sounded like he was making a toast. "To success or failure."

"To success," Ariadne interjected with censure in her tone. "I will not entertain anything else."

The threesome made their stealthy way through the streets to the Temple. When they reached it, ascended the stone steps, thrust open the heavy oak doors and stepped inside, Hercules felt giddy with relief. And wondrous at how easily the plan was progressing. They had been aware of soldiers nearby as they hurried through the streets, could hear their low chatter and the rattle of swords as they walked, but there had been no imminent danger, no close calls and it seemed incredibly fortuitous. Then it occurred to him, that this was never the most vulnerable part of the plan. Making their way through the alleyways held challenges, but not direct danger, all they had to do was stay out of sight. It checked his brimming confidence, pressed it down to a more realistic level when he realized that they had completed the easy part of the mission, the danger was still to come.

"I wish to speak with the Oracle," Ariadne advised, her eyes drifting to the path she intended to take.

Hercules blinked. There had been no mention of consulting with the Oracle when they had discussed the plans.

"I think we should head for the secret passage," Hercules dissented. _As agreed_, he silently added. "It is a miracle we have made it this far without being discovered, I don't think we should test fate by wandering off for unnecessary tasks."

Ariadne wrinkled her brow, gave Hercules a reproachful glare that upbraided him, that made him think _oh right, she's the queen. _ She wasn't asking permission. "The Oracle may have information about Jason. She may know a way to rescue him."

"Right," the big man muttered and squared his shoulders. "Okay. Well, you cannot go by yourself so I guess we will all visit the Oracle."

"It is not necessary," Ariadne dismissed with a faintly condescending smile. "There is little to be feared in the temple. I will visit the Oracle and return shortly."

Pythagoras's brows drew down in disagreement, a sentiment Hercules shared.

"Humour me," Hercules returned. "I would prefer that you not leave our sight. We will come with you."

The queen's lips flattened, irritated by the over-protectiveness but she made no further objection.

They crept over the large stone tiles with barely any noise, Ariadne between Hercules, who led the way and Pythagoras at the tail, all three staying within arm's length. They were becoming adept at furtiveness, keeping eyes both ahead and behind to avoid encounters. But the hour was so late there was no danger of being discovered, no one was in the temple, even those who inhabited the building were away in sleep. Ariadne was probably right that she could have made the journey without an escort but Hercules would never concede it.

When they reached the Oracle's chambers, by a series of hand gestures Hercules indicated he would enter first, make sure the room was secure, and both Ariadne and Pythagoras nodded their understanding and agreement. The big man cautiously tiptoed into the room, descended the staircase and the complete silence unnerved him, it made him feel large and conspicuous, made him feel like he was entering a lion's den.

_The oracle is probably asleep_, Hercules mused, trying to counter his disquiet. The woman had to sleep sometime. He wondered then if it would be appropriate to wake a seer, if it would be an offense to the Gods to wake her, she being their representative. Last thing he needed was to offend the Gods.

"Is the Queen safe?"

Hercules jumped a mile, clutched at his chest and nearly choked on an intake of breath. The Oracle was on her knees before an altar, possibly disturbed in prayer which caused him passing embarrassment, but mostly he was too indignant about being startled to be sorry. He reached out a hand to press against the wall, his knees turned weak by the unexpectedness of her voice.

"Yes," he said finally. "Queen Ariadne is safe. She wishes to speak with you."

"Yes. And I must speak with her."

The dark haired queen came into view, the conversation carrying to where she was secreted. She offered the seer a veneered smile as she commenced her descent of the steep stone stairs then stopped halfway down, her focus on something behind Hercules, an expression of shock and disbelief on her face that chilled the big man. His first thought was of soldiers. Ariadne was so discomposed, her eyes wide, her mouth agape, that he thought armed soldiers must have appeared out of the shadows, that they had somehow anticipated their arrival.

With a tight jaw Hercules swiveled slowly and could only imagine that his expression was a match to the Queen's when his eyes alighted on Jason. Looking – perfect. Straight and strong and healthy and –perfect. It didn't feel real. Hercules had the strange, unsteadying sensation that he must be dreaming, that he must have fallen asleep. Jason had been bowed and broken when he last saw him and he couldn't reconcile the two images, how his friend looked then and how he looked now. _This is a dream_, his mind rationalized. _It must be a dream_. It seemed the only logical explanation for Jason being well, and safe, and _here_.

"It's so good to see you," Jason said, his eyes shining with delight, resting on Ariadne. "I couldn't sleep for worrying about you."

Everyone was rooted to the spot, oddly immobile, as if movement might shatter the joyful turn of events.

"Are you alright?" Pythagoras asked hoarsely, looking pale at the top of the stairs.

"I am - fine," Jason replied, lips turning upward. "The Oracle healed me. Saved me from the dungeon and made me good as new."

There was a flutter of movement as Ariadne glided down the last few steps and swept across the floor into Jason's waiting arms. He embraced her tightly, lifted her off the ground and swung her in a circle as she buried her head in his neck.

"You look amazing," he uttered as he set her feet back to the earth and kept his arms wrapped around her slight frame. "God you're beautiful. I have been sitting here thinking about you, wondering where you were and if you were alright. The separation was driving me crazy."

"You look-." She shook her head, speechless, on the verge of tears, her jaw trembling as she raised a hand to caress his cheek. "It is more than I dared hope. I feared for you," her voice dropped to a whisper. "I honestly feared you were dead. I had hardened my heart to prepare for the worst. I thought I would never smile again."

"I made a promise-" Jason murmured, his features wavering between amused and serious, until he brought his head down and caught her lips with his own. They kissed long and deep, her fingers gripping the material of his shirt fiercely like she wanted him closer, like she might never let him go.

Hercules cleared his throat. They were in a temple for crying out loud, the behavior was clearly inappropriate. He had long since given up on expecting decorum from Jason but he expected better from the Queen, her lack of poise was uncharacteristic.

The couple reluctantly surfaced, relinquished their mouths to a longing gaze of wondrous delight, then inched apart and comported into a more appropriate pose, standing side by side. Although they kept a hand firmly clasped, unwilling to separate entirely.

Jason regarded his friends sheepishly. "I missed you both too."

"I hope you're not going to show us like that," Hercules returned tartly, and was mildly satisfied when Jason ducked his head as colour dusted his cheeks.

Pythagoras had made his way silently down the steps as the smitten couple reunited and now paced the short distance to his friend to wind an arm around his neck. "We missed you very much. It is so good to see you. And even better to see you healed."

"No one is more relieved about that than me," Jason returned lightly, then furrowed his brow. "I wanted to come and find you. I would have, but the Oracle told me I must remain here and wait for a sign." He tipped his head. "I guess you're the sign. It was certainly worth waiting for, we might have passed each other by if I had ventured out earlier."

Hercules flicked eyes to the Oracle, standing quietly aside, waiting discreetly for the happy reunion to play out.

"This is all very nice," the big man stated, feeling a bit awkward. "I am thrilled to see you Jason, we all are. Finding you whole and well is -" He chuffed, shook his head lightly and couldn't figure out how to adequately express his joy and relief and disbelief and so much more, no words could do justice to the emotion. "But we are here on a serious mission."

Jason's expression immediately became sober and humorless and his gaze darted enquiringly to Ariadne.

"We have returned to Atlantis to reclaim the throne," she stated. Where her face had been open and cheerful a moment before, it changed abruptly to become pinched and taut.

"How do you propose to do that?" Jason asked.

"Miras will incite the Atlantean army to rise against the Colchean invaders and we will confront Pasiphae and Medea in the palace using the secret entrance."

Jason's eyes went wide, in a dubious, _you must be mad_ kind of way.

"Perhaps we should retreat to the forest and consider it further," he suggested diplomatically.

"We cannot," the young woman replied. "The plan is in motion, Miras is talking to soldiers as we speak. To leave the city now would leave him unsupported and vulnerable, we cannot do that to him, we must proceed."

Jason dropped his eyes to the floor and exhaled a short breath. "Okay." The stillness of his features belied a mind at work, planning, scheming, searching for a method to assure success. He skipped his eyes to the Oracle. "Is there a chance we can overcome Pasiphae or is it wasted effort?"

"You could defeat her," the seer answered. "You in particular could defeat her. But I cannot tell you if you will find success today, the Gods have not shown me."

The dark haired man winced, shifting uncomfortably, and Hercules knew Jason didn't understand the pronouncement, he was thinking the Oracle was referring to his divine fighting abilities and was doubting his skill, he didn't understand the seer was also referring to how difficult it would be for the mother to oppose, conquer, her only son. It was actually a pretty leading statement. Considering the Oracle didn't want Jason to know Pasiphae was his mother, she was skirting kind of close to the truth.

"I- I don't know if I can kill Pasiphae," Jason offered hesitantly. "Or Medea for that matter. I just-" he lifted a shoulder, "there have been opportunities and I couldn't do it."

The oracle inclined her head in understanding. "That is your weakness," she agreed, not unkindly, more a statement of fact.

Jason slumped a little, self-recrimination in his face.

"I could kill them," Hercules muttered. "I would have no difficulty in it."

"You would more likely get yourself killed," Pythagoras offered acerbically.

"What is the arrangement with Miras?" Jason asked, ignoring the bicker. "Are you to meet up with him?"

It was Ariadne who responded. "No. When the shadow is least we are to enter the palace and overcome Pasiphae. Miras will be keeping the Colchean soldiers busy with an uprising so that she will be only lightly protected."

"So, around noon," Jason said absently as he dipped his eyes to his wrist then clicked his tongue in annoyance. "What time is it now?"

"Before dawn," Pythagoras replied.

Jason nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. We have some time then, to think about things. To think about how best to go about defeating Pasiphae."

"We do," Hercules agreed, and felt a small thrill that they could adjust their plans to include Jason. Their opportunity for success increased exponentially with Jason's involvement. Surely the Gods were smiling on them now, and would lead them to victory.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Stay in the tunnel," Jason instructed, the flicker of torchlight making him appear fierce as he gazed at Ariadne.

Her brows drew down in offense. "Jason-."

"It is not for discussion," he said crisply. "Stay in the tunnel with Pythagoras and I will come for you when Pasiphae is either dead or locked in a cell."

Her mouth thinned in displeasure and it reminded him that he was not in the position of authority, he wasn't treating her with the proper deference. It was something he struggled with, not treating them as equals. He added contritely, lowering his eyes, "Your majesty. Please."

"The passage is no secret to Pasiphae," the young woman said curtly. "I am no safer in here than I would be accompanying you."

"No, you're safer in here," Jason returned, unwilling to give ground.

It was true, nowhere in the palace was unknown to Pasiphae, nowhere that she might not find Ariadne but as much as possible Jason wished to keep his fiancée concealed. As soon as Pasiphae or Medea laid eyes on Ariadne she was in danger, from across the room they might be able to inflict injury, he didn't really know the depth of their unnatural abilities and didn't want to find out. Better for Ariadne to remain out of sight.

He took a step toward Pythagoras and said in a low voice, "Guard her with your life."

"I will do my best," the blond man returned solemnly.

Jason flicked his brows at Hercules, a signal that it was time for them to move. He wove his fingers briefly into Ariadne's, squeezed and released, not wanting to be distracted by words of love or romance. There was deep discontent in her dark eyes, her mouth twitched in protest or argument or scolding which she didn't give voice to because there was nothing she could say that she hadn't already said, argued, over the course of the last few hours and Jason was unwavering in his determination that Ariadne not participate in the confrontation with Pasiphae. He wasn't good at diplomacy. He wasn't good at presenting his point of view gently, with flattery and a smile, he was blunt and stubborn and if Ariadne wasn't in love with him he would probably be in prison for treason or insubordination. Thank goodness she was more circumspect, generous in her authority, because if they parted now on words of anger it would affect his concentration, he was grateful for her silence, he could fool himself that it was tacit agreement.

Jason gave his future wife a tight, bracing smile, which she reluctantly returned, withdrew his sword from the scabbard and slowly pulled open the door to exit the secret passage.

The two men crept through the palace corridors as best they could, the sun at its peak making concealment difficult. Their destination was the throne room. They hoped Pasiphae was engaged in the business of royalty, mornings were usually spent so. If she wasn't they would have to search the palace grounds for her which would be a huge inconvenience and greatly increase the risk of being discovered and their harmful plan thwarted.

A young servant girl, exiting a room, stopped short and gaped at the intruders with large shocked eyes. Jason put a finger to his lips, pleading for quiet and the girl dropped her gaze and scurried down the corridor away from them. Even though Jason doubted the girl would raise the alarm, he decided it was time for less stealth and more haste. Rather than zig zag from concealment to concealment as they had been doing he picked up the pace and began jogging down the corridor, taking a bold line.

The throne room was close and the band of soldiers milling about as they approached made Jason hopeful Pasiphae was within. He tightened his fingers on the leather grip of the sword, the material now molded to his pressure, sized up the enemy in a split second and attacked. Calculation and instinct were in perfect harmony as he thrust his weapon with cold efficiency, not necessarily aiming to kill but to incapacitate quickly. He felt neither fear nor concern as emotion fled to make way for tactical pragmatism. Six soldiers lay prone on the ground in little more than a minute, the swiftness of the attack taking them by surprise, allowing no time for defense or cohesion.

Jason skipped out of reach of the fallen men, studied those who were not unconscious with icy aloofness to gauge their continuing threat and when one struggled to his knees, he brought the butt of his sword hard against the man's skull. Satisfied the soldiers would not rally he swung his eyes to Hercules.

The big man had hung back, ready, but out of the way of the flashing steel. He tipped his head sheepishly at Jason. "I would have helped if you had needed it."

"Wait here," Jason ordered and moved briskly to the door of the throne room, hoping to enter before Hercules could object to being left outside. Jason had been deliberately vague about this part of the plan, about confronting Pasiphae, he had hedged about it in their discussion always intending to confront her alone and not wanting to disclose it because he knew it would raise objection.

"I'm coming with you," Hercules said brusquely, in a way that would ordinarily broach no argument but Jason shot him a hard glare, tightened his jaw and repeated with meaningful preciseness, "Wait here."

Hercules drew back a little at the tone and eyed his friend with dark displeasure. "We should confront Pasiphae together. She is too dangerous for one."

Jason kept his gaze steady and resolute, guilty about opposing his friend but certain in the rightness of his actions. He had the feeling that he was the _only_ one who could defeat Pasiphae, with his God given abilities or whatever being 'touched by the Gods' meant. And having Hercules by his side would provide the woman with an opportunity to distract him or overcome him.

"Don't let anyone enter," Jason uttered, and without a backward glance he thrust open the throne room door, stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Pasiphae sat on a low throne atop a raised dais with four elegantly dressed statesmen standing before her. All of them had their eyes toward the door, the commotion outside having interrupted their business, and while the men held fear and uncertainty in their faces, Pasiphae looked chagrined, irritated by the disturbance.

Two soldiers flanked Pasiphae and they shifted restlessly, their swords already drawn, wanting to confront the rebel and waiting for the order.

"I've already killed six of your friends," Jason said genially, eyes on the soldiers as he prowled cautiously closer. "I would be happy to do the same to you."

"I assumed you had fled the city," Pasiphae said, cool and conversational, trying to appear unfazed but her eyes flashed fire. "Every building was searched after your escape from prison and there was not a hint of you anywhere. You must tell me your secret."

"I'm surprised I was missed. I didn't think anyone would notice I was gone."

"You were missed."

There was a pause, a staring showdown between Jason and the woman, a silent reach for the upper hand before Pasiphae sniffed and drew her shoulders higher, tilted her head slightly toward the nearest guard, without shifting her eyes from Jason, and instructed, "Escort these lords safely to their abodes."

_No witnesses_, Jason thought. _Just the two of us_. He was fine with that.

"I'm no danger to these men," Jason offered. "Indeed I am no danger to you if you will allow me to quietly escort you to prison."

He smiled a little as he said it because there was no way she would allow him to escort her to prison, quietly or otherwise. She smiled a little in return, no doubt sharing the sentiment.

"I have done nothing that would warrant imprisonment," she said sweetly. "I have merely reclaimed the throne that is rightly mine."

Jason tilted his head reproachfully. "Then allow me to rightly reclaim the throne for Queen Ariadne."

"Escort these men home," Pasiphae repeated evenly to her guards.

With swords still drawn the two soldiers descended from the dais and threw menace at Jason with their eyes, their desire to attack almost palpable as they passed in front of him and herded the statesmen through a side door.

There were shuffling steps outside the main entry, shouts and the sharp clash of metal.

_Hercules_.

"That would be reinforcement," Pasiphae simpered, flashing a condescending smile. "Perhaps you should deal with them."

Jason hesitated for a moment, gripped with uncertainty. He had left Hercules outside to be safe, not to face soldiers alone. But then he reasoned it couldn't be reinforcement, he hadn't left any of the guards in a condition to seek reinforcement, it could only be a few soldiers happening across the scene. Hercules could handle that.

"I'll deal with you first," Jason growled and with quick fluid steps he reached the dais, ascended the steps with an agile leap and held the point of his sword to her throat.

"You cannot kill me," Pasiphae stated assuredly, although her eyes betrayed some uncertainty and Jason was glad of it, glad that she didn't hold his measure, glad that he wasn't transparent.

"I don't wish to kill you," Jason replied. "I wish to see you imprisoned. And brought to trial. And probably executed."

The former queen huffed a wry laugh. "No one would dare. To order my execution would be to defy the Gods. Woe to anyone who tried."

"The Gods despise you," Jason snarled. "Your life is a series of defeats."

"Not always." She straightened her shoulders. "I have achieved great things. There is much about me you do not know. Much you should know."

Jason shot out an arm and wrapped his fingers around her throat, cutting off her air, making her eyes widen in surprise.

"I don't wish to know anything about you," he quietly warned. "I've seen how you operate and it tells me everything."

Pasiphae was incapable of replying, constricted by his grip and he maintained the pressure for a beat to let her know how dangerous he could be, how easily he could kill her. He had treated her in much the same way barely a month before, wrapped chains around her neck when he was prisoner and would have squeezed the life from her then, in the grip of despair and rage at Ariadne being stabbed. He had more self control this time. It would not do Ariadne any favours to take Pasiphae's life, it would cause whispers and innuendo, tarnish her reign with the stain of an unlawful death. He would avoid it if he could.

The fingers around her throat slackened and Pasiphae sucked in some ragged breaths.

"You must listen," she gasped, stroking a hand down her neck. "There are things you should know, things that will change everything."

He ignored her plea, not at all tempted by the cryptic words and roughly grabbed her wrist, pulling it behind her back, intending to secure her hands.

At that moment the door to the throne room was flung open. With lightning reflex Jason drew his sword threateningly across Pasiphae's throat and wrapped an arm across her midriff to keep her still, using her as leverage against anyone about to enter.

Hercules shuffled into the room, his arms submissively raised at his side, a disgruntled look on his face, and only when he was fully through the door could Medea be seen behind him, poking a short sword into his spine, urging him forward. She looked tiny and delicate behind Hercules but Jason swallowed thickly as the hair on his arms prickled. They had been here before, Medea with a weapon against someone he cared for. It had not ended well on the previous occasion, Ariadne had nearly died.

"If you hurt Hercules there will be murder," Jason cautioned with a steady voice. "You will not leave this room alive."

The threat in his voice wasn't feigned and it was disquieting to feel the truth of it. If Medea stabbed Hercules, Jason would explode into violence, he could feel it within him. In a peaceful moment that would trouble him, as bursts of violence always troubled him after the fact, but in the heat of the moment his conscience was absent and deadly intent was brimming.

"I have no desire to harm your friend," Medea replied quickly, in her gentle lilt. "His death would gain me nothing. But you threaten something I hold dear. Set Pasiphae free and I will do the same for your fat friend."

"Hercules," the big man grumbled. "You know my name. And don't you dare," he directed to Jason. "Kill Pasiphae and all our problems are solved."

_Not entirely_, Jason thought. If he ran Pasiphae through he had no doubt Medea would repay him in kind and do the same to Hercules.

"Pasiphae should face trial for her actions. Honest and fair," Jason reasoned.

"Honest and fair," Pasiphae scoffed. "You reveal your deficient upbringing when you spout such foolishness. There is no honest and fair. There is calculation and manipulation and elimination of rivals. That is how power works."

"Maybe under your rule. Not under Queen Ariadne's," he retorted.

"My dear boy, your naïveté would be charming under different circumstances."

"If you will not set Pasiphae free, then I will not set your friend free," Medea concluded, declaring an impasse.

"Hercules!" the big man pronounced. "I am more than just Jason's friend, I do have a name."

Jason shared a despairing look with the burly man and could feel the upper-hand slipping away. He couldn't contrive of a way to lock up Pasiphae without repercussions for Hercules. He expelled a heavy breath as his mind whirled for a solution.

"We will exchange our prisoners outside the city walls," Jason decided.

"Don't be a fool," Hercules burst out. "We can end it all right here." He dipped his head. "Okay, collateral damage, I get that, but I am willing to accept it because we may not have this opportunity again. Don't spare Pasiphae on my behalf. Look at me – my best years are behind. And if my death results in peace for Atlantis, there is no more noble sacrifice."

Jason was unconvinced, unwilling to forfeit Hercules, and maybe that was selfish on his part, maybe he should aspire to the safety of the city above all else but sacrificing his friend to achieve it would make for a hollow victory. And not one he thought he could live with. He gave his friend a small fond smile, appreciating the bravery, a little surprised by it to be honest, Hercules was usually keen on self preservation.

From outside the window came sounds of battle, cries and yells from men within and without the palace grounds. The improbable plan was coming to fruition. From the sounds of it Miras had raised a creditable force and was engaging the enemy in fierce opposition.

"I offer you retreat," Jason said quietly to Pasiphae. "Take your army and leave the city. And never return."

"If I refuse?" she tested.

"You will die in this room."

"You will not risk your friend," she jeered.

"I am confident that I could both kill you and save my friend," he answered, with more assurance than he felt and pressed the blade of his sword lightly against her throat, revealing its sharpness as it bit easily into the skin.

"Fine," she conceded with disgust. "You shall have your way. Remove your sword from my neck and let us conclude this matter with dignity."

Jason slowly lowered his weapon, primed for treachery and girded to run her through at the slightest provocation, no matter the consequences.

"Medea, maintain you sword at the fat man's back," Pasiphae ordered. "He is going to get us out of this city alive."

Hercules clicked his tongue in annoyance and his narrowed eyes drilled Jason with deep disagreement, giving Jason an inkling of how profuse his apologies would need to be later. Although he doubted his friend could hold a long grudge for refusing to surrender his life.

As a tight group they made their way through the palace to the entry courtyard. Not a word was spoken. Not a glance was spared to anyone that crossed their path, leaving several servants staring after them with quizzical confusion.

Waiting men, trained to follow instruction without words, opened the imposing palace entry doors, placed their fist above their heart in salute and revealed chaos outside. For a moment the small group was motionless, observing the startling scene, ferocious, bloody combat filled the courtyard and spilled into the city streets, Colcheans against Atlanteans fought desperately for supremacy. It was loud and disordered and Jason's fingers twitched with a hankering to get involved. In his mind he could see where he would start, who he would attack first, he could see the weaknesses and yearned to exploit them. He clenched the grip of his sword tightly to press down the urge and roughly shoved Pasiphae forward, to the edge of the steps, so that those below might see her.

"End it," he whispered in her ear and she flicked him a withering glare.

Jason stayed close, barely a step away as Pasiphae raised her hand high above her head to gain attention. From somewhere nearby a horn was blown, the blaring note cutting through the noise of battle, and gradually the frenzied action subsided as men granted her unwilling attention.

"My loyal soldiers, our purpose here is at an end," Pasiphae cried, slow and clear in her speech, in the manner of a politician. The ambient noise dropped to nothing, silence descended in the unruly crowd. "We have shown Atlantis our might. With only a handful of men we have cowered the city and brought glory to Colchis. It is time to show other cities our might and take the best of them. We shall depart immediately, and leave this ruined city for the defeated citizens."

Jason ground his teeth, willing to endure the pompous boasting if the end result was the invaders leaving. Pasiphae slowly descended the stone steps and Jason followed like a shadow, never beyond arm's length. Her stiff bearing revealed her wariness as she walked among men laden with adrenaline and a thirst for blood and Jason couldn't help but be impressed by how disciplined her soldiers were. Colcheans were callous and savage but they knew how to follow orders and as she progressed through the gory crowd, her men fell in behind her.

It was excruciatingly tense. The invading soldiers formed a column and trailed after their queen through the city street as citizens flanked each side and silently watched, uncertain about what they were witnessing, and those who had been fighting for Atlantis stalked at the rear.

_No one throw a rock_, Jason silently prayed. _No one hurl an insult_. The atmosphere was strained and taut, a tenuous peace that might be broken at the slightest provocation and it made for a torturously long journey to the city gates. When the giant wooded doors came into sight, Jason's heart was beating so hard he thought it might kill him. He wanted Pasiphae out of the city, he wanted the whole sorry insurrection ended and the closer they got to it the more brittle he felt, on edge, vibrating internally while trying to maintain a calm, aloof facade.

They passed through the gate, unchallenged, unmolested and Jason had to remind himself to breathe. His hand strangled the grip of his sword. And pessimism assailed him. It couldn't be so easy. He didn't trust Pasiphae to leave without retaliation, without a parting shot, and the suspense coiled him like a cobra.

As the Colchean soldiers poured through the gate, purged from the city, Jason clipped to Medea, "Give me Hercules."

With a look to her aunt, obtaining approval, Medea gave the big man a shove in the direction of Jason, and without permission Pasiphae lifted her heavy skirt and stepped toward Medea. The exchange complete the two parties paced carefully backward, putting some space between them.

"You wear your weakness," Pasiphae coldly advised Jason. Even in defeat she looked defiant and unbowed. As if leaving the city had been her idea. "You show it to your enemies and make yourself vulnerable. "

Jason stiffened, unsure to what she was referring. "Back inside the gate," he quietly urged Hercules.

"I am going to do you a favour," she pronounced. "And you will thank me for it later."

Jason prickled with dread. They couldn't move quickly to safety, too many of the citizens had followed the procession and now barricaded the path into the city.

"Inside," Jason yelled. "Everyone inside the gates."

He remained facing Pasiphae but could hear scrabbling behind as people appreciated there was danger and pushed to re-enter the city. Pasiphae's lips moved in silent recitation as she raised her hand and pincered her thumb and forefinger.

Jason inhaled sharply in anticipation of disaster, braced himself for something calamitous, helpless for what it might be. When nothing happened, no earthquake or flying objects or hole in the ground, nothing that affected him personally, he glanced around wildly seeking the effect of Pasiphae's actions and saw Hercules clutching at his throat, trying to loosen an invisible noose, unable to draw breath.

"No!" Jason cried. He took quick steps to his friend and could do nothing as Hercules collapsed to his knees, wild imploring eyes pleading for help against an invisible snare.

_She's right_, Jason thought. _This is my weakness_. He could bear to see the city flattened before he could bear to see someone he loved die. And it dismayed him that Pasiphae knew it, that she could use it against him.

"Stop it," Jason yelled, his gaze falling on Medea, silently beseeching her for intervention. But her eyes were huge and staring, she was frozen in indecision.

With unconscious instinct Jason snatched up a dagger that Hercules kept at his hip and threw it at Pasiphae. The weapon found its mark with uncanny precision, the tip pierced the woman's palm and trapped her hand against her shoulder. It was freakishly adept and Jason winced a little at the unnaturalness of it, although grateful for it, grateful that he had extraordinary ability that could counter Pasiphae's extraordinary ability.

As Pasiphae cried out in pain, Hercules drew in a whooping breath and sagged against Jason's legs.

"Take her and go," Jason hollered to Medea and the young woman quickly did as she was bid, wrapped arms around her crumpling aunt and hurried her away.

Jason did similarly to Hercules, hooked hands under his friend's shoulders and hauled him to his feet, then draped Hercules arm around his neck and propelled him toward the city gates. The crowd had mostly dispersed and Jason was able to get his friend to safety as quickly as Hercules' unsteady legs would allow.

"Close the gate," Jason called and only when he heard the cross bar slam into place did tension leave his shoulders. He drew in a steadying breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and dropped his head to his chest feeling suddenly exhausted.

"I suppose that ended well," Hercules gasped dubiously. "At least Pasiphae and her army are out of Atlantis."

* * *

Jason tried not to be irritated that Ariadne was no longer in the secret passage. Of course she wasn't, what did he expect, she was feisty and headstrong and not the sort to follow instruction. But it caused a clench in his chest that he didn't know where she was, what might have happened to her. It was some consolation that wherever she was, Pythagoras was with her. His friend would counsel her well.

He hastened through the palace corridors, impatient as Hercules stumbled behind.

"The urgency is past," Hercules complained. "Can we please walk at a normal pace?"

"I have to find Ariadne," Jason muttered.

There was plenty of activity in the building, servants hurried over the tiles or chattered quietly in groups. Jason tried to find purpose in the motion, tried to discover if they were heading in a particular direction, hopefully toward Ariadne, but movement was scattered and disorganized and it frustrated him. Finally there was a face he recognized, a young servant girl who had always been friendly when he had visited Ariadne during her infirmity.

"Abela," Jason greeted in relief. "Is Ariadne in the palace?"

"In the war room," the girl returned, a large grin spreading across her face. "Thank the Gods the old cow is gone. Serving her was unbearable, I was this close to taking my own life. Did you make her pay? Did you make her suffer?"

Jason was taken aback by the familiarity, a little flustered by it. "Not really," he stammered.

"Shame. Maybe next time you could inflict a stab wound from me."

Jason's brows flew skyward. "Yeah, maybe."

Just as Hercules reached his side, Jason loped away in the direction of the war room and heard Hercules groan loudly behind him. "War room," Jason called and left his friend to follow at his own pace.

At the sight of Ariadne, standing amid a handful of noblemen and a few weeping ladies in waiting, relief rolled over Jason. She was fine. More than that, she was clothed in a beautiful, form-hugging gown, delicate blue silk draped her body, and she looked every part the queen. It must have been a very quick transformation from the humble clothes she had been wearing and worth the effort as the finery enhanced her status and grace and made her appear serenely triumphant. She smiled at him as their eyes met but made no other acknowledgment of his arrival.

Pythagoras bounded over, then frowned, eyes darting in search of Hercules.

"He's coming," Jason pre-empted. "He's slow."

Pythagoras inclined his head, lips upturned. "Is she dead?" The mirth slid from his face.

Jason rocked his head mildly. "No."

Pythagoras took a moment to digest. "Well, she is gone. That is all that matters for now."

Jason appreciated the forgiving loyalty but had a pit in his stomach that felt like failure. Pasiphae was free to regroup and scheme and he had no doubt that she was not done with Atlantis, that they would have to deal with her treachery again.

"Jason!"

The dark haired man turned to see Miras limping toward him, splattered in blood with a wide grin on his face. "Bloody brilliant. We sorted that woman out for a second time. She's going to think twice about coming at us again."

Jason smiled wanly and accepted an enthusiastic embrace from the soldier. "You did well. Are you alright?"

"Ah, you know, a couple of new holes and gashes, who can really tell the difference. And you? Imprisonment seems to have agreed with you."

Jason grimaced. "Imprisonment agrees with no one."

"Miras," Hercules greeted with a brittle, put on smile as he sidled up to the group. "Glad to see you this side of Hades."

"And you," Miras returned with matching coolness. "I must return to the troops. Tell Her Highness that every man in the army rose on her behalf. I could not be more proud of this city."

Jason's eyes slid to the queen. She was engaged in serious conversation, animated and intent, listening to the advice of her advisors and giving orders no doubt to undo all that Pasiphae had wrought. His heart swelled at her quiet intelligence and measured composure.

_Could not be more proud_, he silently agreed.

* * *

**AN:** Yay! Well mostly yay. This story is pretty much done. I guess there could be an epilogue, we'll see if I can wring one out. Thank you for reading to the end and a special thank you to those that left a review, you guys are the best.


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